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The Runaway 





BY 


Captain Simon O’Donnell. 



CHICAGO: 

LAIRD & LEE, Publishers. 


PINKERTON DETECTIVE SERIES. Issued Monthly. By Subscription $3.00 per annum. Vol. 25. Mar., 1889. 

Entered at Chicago Post Office as second-class matter. 


♦ » 





THE LATEST WORKS 

OF THE 

MOST POPULAR AUTHORS. 

NANA By Emile Zola 

LA TERRE By Emile Zola 

L’ASSOMMOIR By Emile Zola 

NANA’S DAUGHTER; A Reply to “Nana” ..By Emile Zola 

THE DREAM ...ByEMiLE Zola 

POT BOUILLEjfPiping Hot) By Emile Rola 

THE LADIES’ PARADISE ByEMiLE Zola 

THROUGH MIGHTY WATERS SAVED, A Romance of the 

Johnstown Flood By Duke Bailie 

THE STORY OF CHARLES STRANGE By Mrs. Henry Wood 

THE MISSING RUBIES By Sarah Doudney 

AN ACTOR’S WIFE By George Moore 

BROKEN VOWS By Mattie Dyer Britts 

THE BLUE VEIL By F. Du Boisgobey 

TANGLED LIVES; or, United At Last By“THERoN” 

A GOLDEN HEART By Bertha M. Clay 

MAY AND TUNE By Edward R. Roe 

FROM THE BEATEN PATH....... By Edward R. Roe 

G. A. R.; or How She Married His Double By Edward R. Roe 

DR. CALDWELL; or, The Trail of the Serpent By Edward R. Roe 

FETTERED BY FATE By Emma S. Southworth 

JERRY BLEEKER; or, Is Marriage a Failure By R. C. Givins 

THE MILLIONAIRE TRAMP By R. C. Givins 

A WIFE’S PERIL By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

A WOMAN’S LOVE By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

HER FATAL SIN By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

THE TRAGEDY OF REDMOUNT By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

THE WIFE’S SECRET By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

FOR A WOMAN’S SAKE By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

A HEARTLESS WOMAN By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

WHO WILL SAVE HER? By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

A DESPERATE WOMAN By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

ALLAN QUATERMAIN By H. Rider Haggard 

SHE By H. Rider Haggard 

KING SOLOMON’S MINES By H. Rider Haggard 

MR. MEESON’S WILL By H. Rider Haggard 

GOTHAM AND THE GOTHAMITES; or, The Gay Girls 

of New York By F. C. Valentine 

LADY VALWORTH’S DIAMONDS By The “Duchess” 

MILDRED TREVANION By The “Duchess” 

Wee FOLK OF NO MAN’S LAND; or, The Indian 

Maiden’s Faith By May M. Wetmore 

MY QUEEN By Mrs. Godfrey 

COWARD AND COQUETTE By Mrs. Fairman Mann 

A DARK SECRET By Eva Catharine Clapp 

A HOUSE PARTY, AND THE BLUE CURTAINS By“OuiDA” 

CHECKERED LIGHTS; or, The Sheriff ’s Daughter By Fulton Gardner 

AGAINST FATE By Mrs. M. L. Rayne 

BOUND BY A SPELL By Hugh Conway 

MORGAN'S HORROR By Geo. Manville Fenn 

CAUGHT IN A CORNER; or, A Terrible Adventure By G. W. Waters 

AS IN A LOOKING GLASS By F. C. Philips 

THE UPLAND MYSTERY; A Tragedy of New Bngland.By Mrs. M. R. P. Hatch 

A FROLICSOME GIRL By John C. Wallis 

COURT ROYAL; or. Pawn Ticket No. axo By S. Baring-Gould 

FORCED APART; or Exiled By Fate By Morris Redwing 

The above book* are bound in handsome lithographed covers, in four colors. 
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LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, 

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A DARK SECRET: 


Or, The Mystery of Runlet Grove. 


By EVA CATHERINE CLAPP. 


Awt&or of ** Her Bright Patore," ©to* 


ILLUSTRATED. 


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Price, in Paper Covers, cents ; elegantly bound in Cloth, Ink 
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CAPTAIN SIMON O’DONNELL 


of the Chicago Police. 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


OR 


LOVE AND VENGEANCE 

From the Diary of Captain Simon O’Donnell of 
the Chicago Police. 



Copyright 1889 
By LAIRD & LEE 


The Pinkerton Detective Series. Issued Monthly. By Subscription $3.00 per 
annum. Vol. 25, March, 1889. Entered at Chicago Postoffice as 
second-class matter. 


CHICAGO: 

Laird & Lee, Publishers 
1889 


The Millionaire Tramp; 

Or, EXILED BY CRIME. 

Be R. G. GIYIN8, 

Author or “The Unwritten Will,” etc. 


'* A breezy, well written story." — Chicago Time*, 

“It is a pure, romantic relation of great interest and very great literary^ 
merit. — Chicago Mail, 

“An exceedingly interesting story .” — Toronto Mail. 

“ It is a work that has come to stay. The strange life of the old tramp, who 
knocked about the country for forty years to discover at last he was a millionaire, 
is pathetic enough to touch the heart of all readers . — Chicago Inter Ocean. 

“The Millionaire Tramp,” a story written by Robert C. Givins, has attracted 
considerable notice throughout the United States. It now appears that the 
original of the Millionaire Tramp was a Torontonian of eminently respectable 
parentage, who forty years ago was a promising son, liberally educated, and of 
considerable skill as a civil engineer. The young man left his home and wan- 
dered about the world a tramp for forty years, sleeping in barns, under side- 
walks, etc. The story is told from beginning to end in a bright, vigorous style. 
The tramp’s story of his life is graphically portrayed. The idea of a man of 
refinement and education leading such a life as the one described, lifts the book 
out of the realm of the common novel and makes it the creator of a new and 
strange character, one not surpassed in history even by “The Wandering Jew,” 
“The Tichborne Claimant,” or “The Rake’s Progress.” The tramp does not 
discover his wealth till on his deathbed, when Charles Landsdown, “the only 
friend he has on earth,” procures a deed from him of property, of which he had 
no knowledge until it was too late to enjoy it. Mr. Givins has also written the 
“ Unwritten Will," a novel that has attained a large sale through the States.— 
Toronto Telegram . 


Bound in Extra English Silk Cloth, Embossed in Ink and Gold. 

Sent by mail postpaid on receipt of price 


LAIRD & LEE, Publishers. CHICAGO. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. PAGE 

I. — An Odd Customer 7 

II. — Drumley’s Experiences - - - 12 

III. — An Encounter with Footpads - - 21 

IV. — Still Hoping - - - - - 27 

V. — A Heartless Proposition - - - 29 

VI. — Saved — But for What - - - 40 

VII. — The Den in the Woods - - - 50 

VIII. — A Friend in Need - - - 58 

IX. — The Escape - - - - - 68 

X. — The Great Diamond Robbery - - 76 

XI. — The Success of Bowery Joe’s Scheme 86 

XII. — Detected - - - - - 93 

XIII. — Counterfeiters - - - - 99 

XIV. — The Husband Told - 104 

XV. — Found ------ 106 

XVI.— Pure Gold - - - - -no 

XVII. — The Serpent Enters Eden - - 1 1 5 

XVIII. — The Trail of the Serpent - - 124 

XIX. — A Bitter Blow - - - - 130 

XX. — Bowery Joe Develops a New Scheme 134 

XXI. — An Interview - - - - 143 

XXII. — The Serpent’s Sting - 152 

XXIII. — A Horrible Fatality - - - 1 59 

XXIV. — Retribution ----- 163 
XXV. — The End of a Shameless Life - - 169 

The Runaway Wife. 


The “Popular” Series. 


W E desire to call your particular attention to our “Popular Series.'* WB 
DEFY COMPETITION in these books. Better books CANNOT BE 
PRODUCED for the price. They are all over inches thick, are bound 
in finest silk cloth in assorted colors and embossed on side and back in a highly 
artistic manner. They are also head-banded and enclosed singly in heavy man* 
ila wrappers, thus making them in manufacture equal to the highest priced books 
in the market. 


NANA . By Emile Zola 

LA TERRE By Emile Zola 

L’ASSOMMOIR By Emile Zola 

NANA’S DAUGHTER; A Reply to ‘Nana" By Emile Zola 

THE DREAM By Emile Zola 

POT BOUILLE (Piping Hot) By Emile Zola 

THE LADIES’ PARADISE By Emile Zola 

G. A. R.; or, How She Married His Double By Edward R. Roe 

DR. CALDWELL; r, The Trai of the Serpent By Edward R. Roe 

MAY AND JUNE By Edward R. Roe 

FROM THE BEATEN PATH By Edward R. Rob 

GOD REIGNS By Edward R. Roe 

A DARK SECRET By Eva Catharine Clapp 

A WOMAN’S LOVE By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

HER FAT.-L SIN By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

THE TRAGEDY OF REDMOUNT By *Irs. M. L. Holmes 

THE WIFE’S SECRET By Mrs. M E. Holmes 

FOR A WOMAN’S SAKE By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

A HEARTLESo WOMAN By M s. M. E. Holmes 

A DESP ERATE WOMAN By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

WHO WILL SAVE HER .By Mrs. M E. Holmes 

THE MISSING RUBIES By oarah Doudney 

AN ACTOR’S WIFE By George Moore 

THE BLUE VEIL By F. Du Boisgobey 

AGAINST FATE By Mrs M L. Rayne 

A GOLDEN HEART By Bettha M. Clay 

COURT ROYAL; or, Pawn Ticket No. 210 By Baring-Gould 

TWELVE STEPS TOWARD HEAVEN By Walter B. Adkins 

GOTHAM AND THE GOTHAMITES; or, The Gay Girls 

of New York By F. C. Valentine 

LADY VALWORTH’S DIAMONDS ...By The “Duchess" 

$5,000 REWARD; or, Cornerf.d At Last By A. F. Pinkerton 

A CRIMINAL QUEEN; or, The Fatal Shot B y Ernest A. Young 

JIM CUMMINGS; or, The Great Adams Express Robbery.. By A. F. inkerton 
LINK BY LINK; or, The Chain of Evidence B Nathan D. Urner 


MARKED FOR LIFE; or, The Gambler’s Fate By A. F Pinkerton 

DYKE DARREL, the Railroad Detective .....By A. F. Pinkerton 

THE GREAT TRUNK TRAGEDY; or, The St. Louis Max well- 

Preller Case Py Morris Redwing 

JOSEPH PRICKETT, The Scotland Yard Detective ,.,,By Inspector Murray 


The above books are for sale on all railroads, at ail book 
stores, or will be mailed on receipt of price by the 
publishers. 


LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, 


*>03-205 Jackson st. 


CHICAGO. ILL* 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


CHAPTER I. 

AN ODD CUSTOMER. 

He certainly was an odd-looking man; not old, 
decrepit or deformed, not even feeble or sickly in 
aspect, but odd in his manner, his walk, his attire, 
and queer fashion of stopping and turning round 
every few seconds as though he expected to find 
some one he knew, or was waiting for some one to 
overtake him. 

He was a middle-aged man, of medium stature, 
rather heavy and lumbering in build, good broad 
shoulders, and a massive head; red, weather-beaten 
face, clean shaven, with the exception of two small 
patches of side whiskers ; small, sparkling gray 
eyes; a pugnacious nose of generous size; a large, 
full-lipped mouth, and a firm, square chin, cloven 
in the center with a gap which, by courtesy, might 
be called a dimple. 

It was an honest, open face — out of keeping, 
however, with the shuffling, shambling gait of its 
owner, as he moved slowly up Lake street from the 
old Union Depot in Chicago with an old-fashioned 
carpet-bag in one hand, and a leather hat-box in 


8 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


the other, pausing every now and then to gaze 
around him — nowin the faces of the passers-by, 
and then in the store windows — and again listlessly 
continuing his journey as though lost in thought 
or bewildered by the sights and sounds of a strange 
city. 

For the man was undoubtedly a stranger, and a 
foreigner into the bargain. No native American, 
with the promising material of his expressive face 
and sturdy form, could have turned out such an 
odd fish, and attracted amazed attention by his 
ridiculous style of perambulation. 

Moreover, he whistled softly as he shuffled along, 
and the American is not born who whistles in the 
streets so early in the morning, and in the teeth of 
a bitter March wind. 

His clothes, as already hinted, had much to do 
with the oddity of his appearance. He wore a 
rough pea-jacket over a long Prince Albert coat, 
the blue skirts of which dropped two feet below the 
short upper garment, which was of a faded brown. 
Despite the cold, piercing wind, both coats were 
unbuttoned, revealing a velvet waistcoat with blue 
and yellow stripes and enormous brass buttons, and 
tight-fitting pantaloons with broad black and white 
checks. Muffled loosely round his throat was a 
many-hued silk handkerchief, and on his head was 
a peculiar hat — a hat as indefinite in shape as it 
was in color. 

Indeed, it was this hat which gave the crowning 
touch of absurdity to the man’s make-up. 

It was neither a plug nor a felt hat; it was not 


AN ODD CUSTOMER 


9 


shiny nor fluffy; it was not tall; neither was it 
short. It was unique in style and material — a 
puzzling species of headgear which bespoke the 
originality or insanity of the maker, baffled the 
expert in classification, and gave an unenviable 
distinction to the wearer. 

All that could be said of it was that it was a hat 
to absorb attention anywhere — a hat that would 
have achieved proud pre-eminence in a St. Patrick 
day parade, a Shaker festival or a Mormon love 
feast 

On reaching the corner of Lake and Clark streets, 
the odd-looking man put his carpet-bag and hat- 
box on the sidewalk, and gazed about him with a 
painful air of indecision. 

At this moment Simon O’Donnell, who was then 
(March, 1867) on duty as crossing patrolman, 
caught sight of the stranger. 

“ Well,” said Simon to himself, “ that’s a funny 
genius, to be sure. Looks as if he was lost, too.” 
And approaching the man, he asked, in a kindly 
tone: 

“ Where do you want to go, sir? ” 

The stranger started on being addressed by the 
officers, but he gathered comfort from Simon’s 
genial face, and answered in a deep voice, rendered 
musical by a strong, quaint accent: 

“ Awm lookin’ for ma Bet, Maister Bobby.” 

“ Your bet! ” exclaimed O’Donnell, in amazement; 
“ looking for your bet! Don’t you know gambling's 
against the law in Illinois?” 

“ Aw doant know much abawt law,” said the 


10 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


man, surprised at the change in the officer’s man- 
ner; “ but if t’law can foind me ma Bet, wha, awm 
willin’ to try’t.” 

“Oh!” said Simon, laughing, as a new light 
broke upon him; “ you’re looking for a woman, 
I suppose? ” 

“ I be,” he rejoined, scowling; “ but aw see 
nowt to laugh at. Happen it’s funny when your 
waife runs away fra yo in America; it beant ony 
fun in Yorkshire, where aw coom from, and awm 
not agoin’ to be chaffed abawt it, nayther.” 

The man’s small, gray eyes snapped, and there 
was an indignant ring in his voice which pleased 
Officer O’Donnell, who, bluff, honest and chivalrous 
himself, appreciated those manly qualities in others. 

“ No offense, sir,” said Simon, cheerily. “ So 
you’ve lost your wife. What is her name?” 

“ Elizabeth Drumley — Betty and Bet, for short, 
Maister Bobby. As good and kaind a lass as iver 
lived until a jackanapes of a skulemaister cam 
around t’ house and bamboozled her out o’ her 
senses. An’ aw’ve coom efter her, for t’ owd plaace 
is lost wi’out her, and t’ bairns are pining for their 
mither. Hes ta seen owt ov her? ” 

O’Donnell smiled at the man’s simplicity, and 
answered, kindly; 

“ No, my good man; what makes you think she 
is in Chicago? ” 

“ ’Cos I heerd that t’ skulemaister wor here, and 
that Betty were worrited to death by t’ scoundrel, 
and would coom back but for shaame on’t.” 

“ Then, you’ll forgive her if you find her? ” 


AN ODD CUSTOMER 


II 


“ Forgi’ her! ” exclaimed the man, with strange 
tenderness in his voice. “ Forgi’ her! Aye, that 
aw will if she promises to be true and good and 
kind to th’ childer ag’in. Aw thowt at first 
aw could niver coom to that pass, but it’s faive 
yeers sin she left me, and all aw see noo is a happy, 
rosy-cheeked wench wha sparked wi’ me on t’ hills, 
and married me in t’ little church, and lived wi’ me 
siven yeers, makkin iverything merry and bright, 
and gave me three bonnie bairns to cheer me in 
owd age. Ay! Aw’ll forgi’ her, but God help 
t’ skulemaister if he coomes wi’in reachin’ distance 
o’ ma fist.” 

O’Donnell, now full of sympathy for the York- 
shireman, drew out the entire story of Betty’s 
escapade, and a sad, pitiful story it proved. The 
man kept a public house in Todmorden, and was in 
comfortable circumstances. Twelve years before 
he married Elizabeth Thornton, the belle of that 
picturesque town. They lived happily together 
until a new master was appointed by the school 
trustees. He was a Devonshire man, with the soft 
accent, and smooth, easy manners of the South, 
and his insinuating politeness seemed to fascinate 
Mrs. Drumley from the first. 

Albert Greenleaf looked with envious eyes upon 
the fresh, rosy face of the landlady of the Crown. 
He was a nightly visitor to the bar parlor, and 
found opportunities to steal the affections of Mrs. 
Drumley while he sipped his toddy and smoked 
his long, churchwarden pipe. 

Drumley suspected nothing, and was almost dis- 


12 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


traded when, one summer morning, he discovered 
that his wife had fled with the amorous school- 
master, and taken £200 of their joint savings. 
The guilty couple were traced to Liverpool, whence 
they had shipped to New York. 

Drumley bore this misfortune like a brave man. 
He tried to tear the woman’s image from his heart, 
and thought he had succeeded, when, a few months 
prior to his advent in Chicago, he learned that she 
was leading a miserable life there with her para- 
mour. All the old affection returned with this sad 
intelligence. He thought of Betty, penitent and 
unhappy, in a strange land; kissed his children 
good-bye, and started in search of the erring one, 
his heart glowing with hope for the future as well 
as forgiveness for the past. 

O’Donnell was deeply interested in the story, 
and promised all the assistance in his power to 
find the woman. Drumley thanked the officer for 
his kindness, and went off in his shuffling, shamb- 
ling manner, saying: 

“ Aw’ll coom tith’ crossin’ ivery day, Maister 
O’Donnell. Happen tha’ may see her first. Lord, 
aw’ll be a happy mon if Betty be fawnd and goes 
back to the childer. ” 


CHAPTER II. 

DRUMLEY’S EXPERIENCES. 

Leaving the kind-hearted officer, the Yorkshire- 
man wended his way along Clark street — the 
bustling scene of life which surrounded him filling 


DRUM LEY’S EXPERIENCES 1 3 

his eyes with wonder. In his own simple English 
home, where the doings of one was known to the 
community, there had never been seen such crowds 
of people, such a hurrying and scurrying, as if 
every one was rushing to catch a train, and only 
had a few minutes to do it in. 

“ It’s laike t’ worrit a lad aut o’ hees foive 
senses,” muttered Joe Drumley. 

“ Aw’d loike to foind ta tavern,” he soliloquized, 
while walking leisurely along. “ Aw moight ta 
spoke to Maister Bobby abawt. Mayhap ’e ’ad 
a knowed whaim ta send oi. Aw’ll ax ta first aw 
see. Aw cawn’t walk ta road all day. ” 

At the next corner he saw an officer. 

“ Aw ax pardon, Maister Bobby. Aw’m nawt 
familiar wi’ ta big town. Mayhap yo’ may tell oi 
aboot a tavern where aw can get a boight and 
lodging.” 

The officer smiled broadly. 

“ You want a hotel? ” he asked. 

“ Aw know nawt what o’ you say. Mayhap it’s 
t’ tavern yo’ mean? ” 

“ Yes. We call them hotels here in Chicago. 
If you want a hotel, walk up this street, across the 
bridge. You’ll find the Gault House. It’s a good 
one, and not too expensive.” 

“ Aw, thaink yo’, maister. Aw’ll go ta the 
tavern yo’ say. Ta Gault House, yo’ say.” 

“ Yes, right the other side of the bridge. ” 

Along Madison street, across the bridge, he 
walked. Halting before the hotel, he glanced up at 
the windows. “ A braw tavern. It bean’t as 


14 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


whoam loike as ta owd ‘Crown/ but ’tis bigger,” 
and he walked into the office. The porter hurried 
to take his carpet bag, a broad smile on his face. 
“ Take yer grip, sir,” he asked. 

“ Awea wi’ yo’ ’aw’ve he’rn o’ yo’ treeks on 
travelers. Aw’ll ’old ma own bag. ” 

“ But I’ll check it, sir.” 

“ Aw’ll check yo’; go awa’, aw’l old it masel’,” and 
he refused to allow the porter to relieve him of the 
piece of luggage. 

Walking up to the desk, he asked: “ Awa loike to 
stop here. Is ta landlord aboot? ” 

“ I am the clerk, sir,” answered that individual; 
“ I will see to you.” 

“ Vera good; aw want a room wi’ naw roaches in 
eet, an a clean bed.” 

“ We can accommodate you, sir.” 

Ding, sounded the gong. “Bill, take this gentle- 
man’s grip, and show him to 47. Please register, 
sir.” 

“ Aw doan’t understand yo’.” 

“ Write your name in this book.” 

“ Wha’ for?” 

“ It is customary, sir.” 

“ Aw keep a tavern at whoam. We doan’t do 
that thair.” 

“ This is a different country, sir. We have differ- 
ent ways of doing business here.” 

“ Mayhap,” and, seizing the pen, honest Joe in- 
scribed his name in the register. The clerk, who 
thought himself somewhat of a wit, looked over the 
name. 


DRUMLEY’S EXPERIENCES I 5 

"Joseph Drumley, Todmorden. Eh! Really, 
I took you at first to be Mister Vanderbilt. ” 

" An, wha ma he be? ” 

" Mister Vanderbilt? Oh, he’s one of our wealthy 
men. A big bug.” 

" Then a beeg bog bees a wealthy mon? ” 

" Yes.” 

" Has ta menny big bogs in ta bed, young mon? ” 

The clerk blushed. 

“ Show this gentleman to 47,” he commanded 
Bill. 

“ Aw am not reech in gelt; but aw ’ave an ’onest 
’eart, young man; as ta clean character, mayhap 
there be soome wha can’t say as mooch,” and, with 
this parting shot, the Yorkshireman followed “ Bill,” 
whom he now permitted to carry his carpet-bag. 

Up the stairs, along a narrow, dirty hall, the por- 
ter led the way, the Englishman never complaining 
of the many flights of stairs to climb nor the dismal 
surroundings. 

He was tired from the effects of a long journey 
(for he had traveled from New York), and all he 
asked was a place to lay his weary bones, a bed to 
rest upon, to sleep. 

Finally the porter stopped before a door, which 
bore the number 47 upon one of the panels. 

" Here you are, sir,” announced “ Bill,” throwing 
open the door, and disclosing a small, dark room, 
windowless, being in the center of the building. 
“ I’ll give you a light in a minute.” He suited the 
action to the word, and lit the gas. 


1 6 THE RUNAWAY WIFE 

Drumley looked about the apartment with a 
quaint smile upon his face. 

“ It bean’t mooch of a room,” he commented; 
“ but it ha’ a bed, and thet’s all aw want. ” 

“ What time shall I call you, sir? ” 

“ Aboot ta middle av t’ afternoon. Aw’m fashed 
out. Aw need sleep.” 

“ Very good, sir; ” and the porter left the queer 
guest, and went down-stairs. 

Drumley looked about the narrow room, then, 
divesting himself of the check trousers, striped 
vest, and the two coats, took from his carpet-bag 
a long, white nightgown, and pulled it on over his 
head. 

Then he knelt beside the bed, and offered up a 
silent prayer to Heaven, asking the Father above 
to aid him in his search for the erring one, and 
bring her back safe to the “ owd whoam an’ ta 
bairns.” 

Then rising to his feet, he blew out the gas and 
went to bed. 

He slept as soon as his head struck the pillow, 
heeding not the smell of the stifling gas as it filled 
the room. He was dreaming of his wife; he saw 
her standing before him, beautiful, smiling as in 
in the olden days. 

Suddenly his dreams were rudely broken into 
by a strong hand roughly shaking him. He could 
hardly open his eyes. A strange stupor seemed 
to be upon him. At last he threw off the lethargic 
feeling, and sat up in bed. 

He opened his eyes, and gazed with astonish- 


DRUMLEY’S EXPERIENCES 


1 7 

ment upon the group of anxious faces around his 
bed. 

“ He’s all right,” cried a voice, the voice of the 
clerk. 

“ Came mighty near going to kingdom come,” 
said another. 

“ Wha’ be ta difficulty,” he gasped. 

“ You blowed out the gas, and come mighty near 
smotherin’,” answered Bill. “ You would if I hadn’t 
’a thought that you might not understand it, and 
come up-stairs ag’in.” 

“ Ta gas! ” muttered Joe. 

‘‘Yes. See; you mustn’t blow this out. Turn 
it off — so,” and the porter illustrated the manner 
in which the gas must be manipulated. 

With open eyes of wonder, the Englishman 
heard him and watched his action. 

“ Aw thank yo*,” he said, as he grasped the 
situation. “ Aw doesn’t ’ave such arrangements 
at whoam. Aw’ll know naw,” and he turned over 
to sleep again. 

The man left the room, Bill first turning off the 
gas. The incident furnished a theme for conversa- 
tion during the forenoon, the guests of the hotel 
awaiting with curiosity the coming of this man 
with the peculiar dialect and strange clothing, who 
did not know enough to turn off the gas jet. 
About three o’clock the porter went up and called 
him. He found the door unlocked, and, after 
shaking the sleeping man into wakefulness, cau- 
tioned him about leaving his door unfastened. 

The Runaway Wife 2 . 


i8 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ A thief might come in, and get away with your 
stuff,” he said. 

u Aw niver locks t’ door at whoam,” answered 
the honest fellow. 

“ But you’re not at home now.” 

“ True, aw’m not,” replied Joe, with a sigh. 

The porter left him. The Yorkshireman made 
his toilet, and then descended to the office, carpet- 
bag in hand. 

“ Going to leave us, Mr. Drumley? ” pleasantly 
inquired the clerk. 

" Noa, maister, but aw brought ma bag below. 
Mayhap you’ll keep it for ma.” 

“Certainly. Here, Bill, check this gentleman’s 

grip.” 

The porter took the bag, and handed Joe a brass 
check. 

“ When you want your bag, just present the 
check at the desk,” said the clerk, seeing the En- 
glishman’s look of bewilderment. 

“ Oh, aw understand yo’ now. Aw keep this 
brass to show aw leeft mabag wi’ yo’ ? ” 

“ That’s the idea, precisely.” 

During this conversation, a number of young 
fellows who had been lounging in the office, gath- 
ered around the odd-looking Yorkshireman. 

After he grasped the meaning of the check, and 
carefully put it away in his purse, they began a 
series of what is known as “ guying.” 

“ Get onto the coat,” said one. 

“ Wonder how he gets his trousers on? ” remarked 
another. 


DRUMLEY’S EXPERIENCES 


19 


" Shoot the hat,” cried a third. 

The Englishman did not seem to notice the 
remarks. If he understood them, he gave no sign 
of it. 

“ Stag the whiskers,” piped out a half-grown 
boy, who was connected with a wholesale house in 
the city, and boarded at the hotel. 

“ Did you hear his dialect? ” inquired a seedy- 
looking young man, a variety performer at one of 
the many “ dives ” which abounded in the city at 
that time. 

“ Get your hair cut,” advised another. 

The peaceful-looking Englishman now came to 
the conclusion that he was being made the butt of 
these coarse allusions. His kindly eyes flashed 
ominously as he walked over to the last speaker, 
and said: 

“ An’ do t’ happen yo mean ma hair? ” 

“ Yes; go get a shave and a hair-cut,” said the 
fellow, impudently. 

The Yorkshireman grasped his arm in his iron 
grip. “ Mayhap yo’d loike ta cut it,” he remarked. 

“ Let go my arm,” cried the fellow, trying to 
make away. 

“ Yo ’ave made a remark which aw think an 
insult. Yomoastbeg ma pardon, or aw’ll shak ta 
loife oot’ a yo’.” 

The crowd gathered around. “ Slug him, Tim,” 
cried a low-foreheaded fellow. 

Tim made a pass at the Englishman, but he 
reckoned without his host, for the next moment 
he was sprawling at full length upon the floor. 


20 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


His temper now aroused, Drumley squared off 
at the youth with the low forehead. That young 
man had some reputation as a fighter, so he stood 
up before the angry Yorkshireman, but not for 
long. He, too, went to grass from the effects of 
a blow between the eyes. One after another the 
“ guying ” fraternity bit the dust; the brawny 
Englishman was a match for twenty of them. In 
his native village, Joseph Drumley was known as a 
science boxer; not one of his countrymen could 
stand up before him. He now gave some of the 
Chicago boys a taste of his skill. 

He would have cleaned out the office, had not the 
clerk induced him to cease. 

“ You will give the hotel a bad name, Mr. 
Drumley,” he cried. “ These fellows had no busi- 
ness to meddle with you; but you’ve punished them 
sufficiently, and taught them a lesson.” 

“ Vera gude, Maister Clark. Ta seemed anxious 
to coot ma hair. Aw thowt aw’d gi’ ’em a 
chance. Happen one may loike ta try it now,” 
turning to the discomfited crowd. But not one of 
them said a word. They had received an introduc- 
tion to Drumley’s fists; they knew when they had 
enough. 

The Yorkshireman was treated with respect 
during the balance of the afternoon. There were 
no more remarks made concerning his clothing or 
dialect. He ate his supper, and, after finishing it, 
went out upon the street to look at the sights. 

“ Look abawt an’ see ta sights o’ ta tawn,” he 
said. 


AN ENCOUNTER WITH FOOTPADS 


21 


CHAPTER III. 

AN ENCOUNTER WITH FOOTPADS. 

The street lights were lit as he stepped out of 
the hotel and turned up Madison street. The bustle 
and hurry of the passers-by interested him, while the 
sights in the store windows filled his simple mind 
with wonder. The glittering lights, the noisy 
crowds, the cries of the newsboys and peddlers of 
songs and fruits, made him feel like a stranger in a 
strange land, a helpless atom upon the sea of 
humanity. 

He strolled slowly along, gaping in at the win- 
dows, smoking a brier pipe which he had brought 
with him from Todmorden. As he reached the 
corner of a street, he saw a row of gas-jets before 
a large building, into which a crowd of people were 
surging. 

“ Mayhap it be a church,” he muttered, and 
turned his steps in the direction of the building, 
which seemed to possess so much attraction for so 
many. 

He halted at the entrance. A number of gaudy 
porters outside informed him that the celebrated 
“ Mme. Rentz Red-stocking Minstrels ” were hold- 
ing forth inside. A cut, representing a young lady 
with very red cheeks and a winning smile, clad in a 
dress very short, top and bottom, showing with 


22 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


delightful freedom the aforesaid red stockings, 
caused a desire to arise in his breast to witness the 
performance of the lady minstrels, so he walked 
up to the ticket-window. 

“ What be ta proice? ” he asked a young man, 
with a dyed mustache and a diamond pin, who 
handled the pasteboards. 

“ Twenty-five, fifty and a dollar,” answered that 
individual. 

“ Gi’ oi a twenty-five,” said Joe, planting down a 
quarter. The man threw out a yellow ticket, and 
the Yorkshireman entered the theater. 

The ticket admitted him to the gallery, and, 
being early, he managed to get a good seat. 

Much amusement his quaint costume created 
among the gallery gods; but he showed no sign of 
anger. They were only boys; perhaps they did 
not know any better. He formed the acquaintance 
of the boys around him, and stood treat several 
times to peanuts, candy, etc. , which he purchased 
from the juvenile vender of these delicacies. 

At last the curtain rolled up, disclosing a semi- 
circle of young ladies, each being dressed some- 
what on the order of the one in the cut outside — 
all wearing red stockings, and seeming to take 
great pains to display them. To the mind of the 
innocent countryman, they were young girls. He 
had never visited a variety show before, and did 
not understand that a shapely limb, and the free 
display thereof, made up for the lack of talent of 
many of the performers. 

The songs sung filled him with delight. The 


AN ENCOUNTER WITH FOOTPADS 2 3 

stale jokes of the end men, “blackamoors,” he 
termed them, caused him to hold his sides with 
laughter. When the curtain went down on the 
minstrel scene, he rose to go. 

“ That ain’t all,” said one of the boys. “ That’s 
only de fust part; wait and see de rest.” So Joe 
sat down again. 

After an overture by the orchestra, the show 
proceeded. Singing, dancing, sketch and farce 
followed each other in rapid succession, the 
Englishman enjoying it all hugely. At his honest 
heart there was one feeling of regret. “ If ma Bet 
was only wi’ me,” he thought, then he would have 
been indeed happy. A young woman appeared 
upon the stage, clad in tights and trunks. Joe 
gazed upon her with astonishment. 

“ She ha’ forgot her goun,” he remarked to the 
boy next to him. 

“ No, she’s got on tights,” answered the gamin. 

“She look sober enough,” remarked Joe. To 
his mind he thought the boy meant she was tight. 

“ Naw, she ain’t tight,” cried the boy, looking 
somewhat contemptuously upon his queer com- 
panion. “ I mean, she is wearing tights, kinder 
long stockin’s they pull on. ” 

“ Ah! ” answered Joe. 

The performance ended at last. Looking at his 
watch, he saw that the hour was close on to mid- 
• night. Having no desire to return (for he had slept 
j long during the day), he determined to stroll along 
? the streets awhile before going to his hotel. He 
found himself upon Madison street, carried there 


24 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


by the crowd. He walked past his hotel until he 
reached the bridge; there he paused. Leaning 
upon the rail, he gazed down into the dark, silent 
river below. Along both sides of the river, the 
tall masts of the shipping arose like grim sentinels 
up to the black sky; the wind swept down upon 
him like a blast from the arctic regions; he did 
not seem to notice it; his mind drifted far away. 
He was standing, in memory, by the side of a bab- 
bling brook, his young wife by his side; she was 
whispering her love into his ear; then the scene 
changed. He was standing in an open doorway. 
A young mother bent over the cradle of a sleeping 
infant; he could hear the sound of her voice croon- 
ing a cradle song; she looked up into his face, it 
was his wife, the child was his own. Then the 
scene changed again, this time to his own tap- 
room in the Crown, atTodmorden; his wife stood 
behind the bar, familiar figures crowded up to get 
their mug of foaming ale. Sitting at a table is a 
slim, handsome young man, it is Albert Greenleaf, 
the schoolmaster; he sees him smiling upon his 
wife, he starts — and finds himself upon the bridge. 
The lap-lap of the silent river, as it caresses the 
moldy piers, is the only sound that reaches his 
ears, the streets are deserted — not even a police- 
man is in sight. With a deep sigh, he turned away, 
only a vision, only the memories of by-gone, happy 
days. 

“ Will ’aw iver faind her? ” he cried, from his 
heart. 

As he stood, thinking it time to return to his 


AN ENCOUNTER WITH FOOTPADS 2$ 

hotel, he heard the sound of footsteps upon the 
sidewalk — evidently some one approaching. For 
some unaccountable reason he stopped, and stepped 
into the shadow of the woodwork of the bridge and 
waited. 

The steps grow nearer. A man passed along on 
the other side of the bridge — a well-dressed man 
— evidently in haste. 

As he reached the center of the bridge, Joe saw 
two figures spring up as if from the earth and 
seize the passer-by. He heard the gasps of the 
man, as though he were being strangled, saw his 
frantic struggles. With a bound he sprang to his 
assistance. With one mighty blow he laid one of 
the footpads insensible upon the path ; the other 
escaped. The gentleman (an elderly man) was 
leaning back against the rail, breathing with diffi- 
culty. 

“ Aw ’ope yo’re nawt hurted, sir? ” asked Drum- 
ley, in a respectful tone. 

“No, my good fellow; only exhausted. The 
scoundrels nearly choked the life out of me. You 
arrived in time to thwart them in their designs.” 

“ They wanted yo’re purse, mayhap.” 

“ That’s what they were after ; but they did not 
get it.” 

They stood and talked for a few moments. The 
gentleman offered the Yorkshireman some money, 
but regretted it as he saw the flush that came to 
the honest face. 

“ Aw deed na do ’t for pay/* he said. “ Only ta 
help a mon in deestress. ” 


2 6 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“Do not feel offended; I meant no harm. If I 
can at any time be of service to you, do not hesi- 
tate to call upon me,” and he presented his card. 

It bore the name of a well-known lawyer. 

“ Aw doan’t know ef awll need t’ law,” said Joe, 
with a quiet smile. “ But ef aw do, awll coom an’ 
see yo’.” 

“ Do so. Now, what about the fellow you 
knocked down? we had better find an officer.” 

The Englishman assented. They turned to look 
for the footpad. He was not there; he had prob- 
ably recovered consciousness and made good his 
escape. 

“ Well, let him go,” murmured the lawyer. “ He 
is punished enough.” 

“ Aye. Hell ’ave two black een i’ t’ morning.” 
Shaking his preserver’s hand warmly, the lawyer 
took his departure. Joe walked slowly toward the 
hotel. 

" Aw doan't think awll need ta lawyer ta ’elp 
oi,” he muttered. “ But awll keep he’un’s caird.” 

Ah, Joe, my honest friend, we never can tell in 
this world when we shall need the services of a 
friend. In the morning he visited Simon O’Don- 
nell, and related the incident of the previous night. 

“ And you knocked him out, Joe? ” 

“ He’un fell loike a beef,” assumed Joe. 

“ Good for you. I know this lawyer well. He 
is a smart one; don’t forget his name. You may 
want to get a divorce some day,” with a smile. 

“ Noa, O’Donnell. If aw foind her, awll be ta 


STILL HOPING 27 

glad ta think o’ partin’ wi’ her. Aw’ll forgi’ ’er all, 
an’ tak ’er ta ma heart ni’er ta part on earth.” 

“ I hope you’ll find her, Joe.” 

“ Pray God aw may.” 

CHAPTER IV. 

STILL HOPING. 

Every day Joseph Drumley, dressed in the same 
odd fashion and wearing the same curious, in- 
describable hat, visited Simon O’Donnell at his 
post of duty. The most diligent inquiries failed to 
locate his long-lost wife, but the Yorkshireman 
was possessed of more than ordinary patience, and 
he was confident that she would yet be found in 
Chicago. 

“ Simon, lad,” became his familiar daily greet- 
ing, “ hes ta seen her? ” 

And when O’Donnell, who had grown to like his 
quaint English friend, shook his head sadly in 
response, Drumley would whistle softly to chase 
the shadows from his face, and say, blithely. 

“ Nivver say dee, owd fellow. She’s bawnd to 
turn up. Aw mun faind her afore aw go back; 
the childer want her.” 

Simon’s frequent conferences with the odd-look- 
ing Yorkshireman were the subject of curious com- 
ment in the neighborhood. His brother officers 
learned the touching story of the man’s errand in 
the city, and each and every one was continually 
on the lookout for women answering the description 
of Betty Drumley. 


28 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


The comical hat was an eyesore to the newsboys 
and bootblacks, who exhausted their street vocab- 
ulary over its wondrous shape and texture, and 
annoyed Drumley seriously at times by their 
caustic remarks and the missiles they threw at it. 
But he kept on wearing the hat, and it was finally 
whispered that there was a secret history, perhaps 
pathetic association, connected with it. 

This last suggestion proved correct. 

“Joe,” said O’Donnell one day, after the cus- 
tomary greeting and discouraging shake of the 
head, “ Joe, why don’t you get a new hat, and put 
a stop to all this guying? ” 

Drumley’s honest face flushed, and his hands 
went up instinctively to the nondescript brim of his 
hat, as though fearful lest mischief was in the wind. 
His small, gray eyes moistened as he replied, some- 
what huskily: 

“ Ah! Simon, lad, aw wore this hat on ma wed- 
din' daay. It wor a graat beauty then, and Betty 
saad aw luked peart and swellish. Aw browt it 
wi’ me for a talisman. Betty’ll knaw this hat in a 
crowd; it’ll remaind her o’ owd taimes; it’ll be a 
token of forgi’eness, a magnetic beacon to draw 
her back to th’ haaven o’ ma heart. Nay, nay, lad, 
aw want ne other tile till Betty’s fawnd.” 

Nothing more was said on the subject after this 
pathetic explanation, and Joe kept on wearing the 
hat, in the fond hope that it would help in the resto- 
ration of his wife. 

Affairs went on in this hopeless, uneventful way 
for months. Spring merged into summer, summer 


A HEARTLESS PROPOSITION 


29 


passed into autumn, and autumn was quickly giving 
way to the cold blasts of winter; and yet, every 
day, Joe Drumley asked anxiously for tidings of 
Betty, and every day Officer O’Donnell shook his 
head mournfully, and felt in his heart that the York- 
shireman’s tedious vigil would be fruitless and end- 
less. 

Drumley never seemed to lose heart, however. 

“ Summat tells me she’s here,” he would remark; 
“ aw dreeam abawt her ivery neet. She’s in Chi- 
kargo and in trubble, and I’ll fawnd her, if aw’ve 
got to stay till doomsday.” 

CHAPTER V. 

A HEARTLESS PROPOSITION. 

The winter preceding the arrival of Joseph Drum- 
ley had been a very severe one. For years the 
weather had not been so blustery and cold. 

The wind blowing off the lake almost froze the 
marrow in one’s bones, and the ice and snow were 
not entirely thawed out, and melted until way in 
June. 

On the 1 5th day of December, or rather the night 
of the 15th day, a young woman, plainly but neatly 
dressed, sat before a small stove in a top-floor room 
on Lake street, near the depot. The room was, as 
I have stated, upon the top floor, over some whole- 
sale ware-rooms. 

Not a very comfortable or cheerful apartment, 
one that a person seeking a home would hardly 


30 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


select. The back window opened out upon a roof, 
and commanded a fine view of roofs — big roofs, 
little roofs, slate roofs, shingle roofs, tin roofs, 
gravel roofs, painted roofs, roofs that needed paint, 
flat roofs and sloping roofs; in fact, a variety of 
house-tops to select from. Being in the back of 
the building, there was no other window. The 
rooms in front were occupied by a tailor and his 
family of ten — wife and nine children, the eldest 
of which was a girl of twelve, the youngest a baby 
of sixteen months, the balance of the tow-heads 
filling in between. 

When of a Sunday the worthy tailor — Gustave 
Steppe by name — took his family out for a walk, 
the people would say, who knew him: “ Here 
comes Mr. Steppe and the little Steppes; ” and, 
really, the children, in varying sizes, were much 
like a flight of steps. 

The dark hallway outside the room was dirty and 
smelled of machinery oil, and, altogether, the spot 
was decidedly unattractive. The little stove gave 
out but little heat; the wind, which was howling 
furiously outside, blew down the chimney through 
the stove-pipe, sending the smoke in puffs out into 
the room. Still, the woman did not stir. She 
seemed to lack ambition, seeming not to care if the 
fire burned or not. 

A candle stuck in a short candlestick, which 
was encased in a thick coating of melted tallow, the 
debris of former candles, feebly illuminated the 
apartment. To speak truthfully, it served to make 
the darkness more apparent. The woman’s face 


A HEARTLESS PROPOSITION 


31 


was of rare beauty, somewhat marred by the look 
of melancholy and suffering that marked it, but 
still, in spite of all, beautiful — a beauty that men 
would turn to look upon as she passed them in the 
street — a beauty that had worked her ruin. From 
Gustave Steppe’s apartment came the sounds of 
merriment, boisterous laughter, and, when the 
door opened to admit the girl, who was sent out 
frequently to replenish the pitcher of beer, the odor 
of cooking — tripe and onions! a dish in which 
the German family luxuriated. But the sounds 
from the front room, the loud odor of the cooking, 
did not seem to attract the attention of the woman. 
She sat, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, 
until a step was heard outside, and a heavy hand 
" J was laid upon the door knob. 

Then she aroused herself, and turned with an 
expectant look in her eyes. 

A man entered the dreary room. A tall, slim 
man, not unhandsome, but his dark face marked 
and marred by the cynical expression of his mouth 
and the sullen look in his eyes. 

“ You have come,” muttered the woman. 

“ Yes, I’m here,” growled the newcomer. 

“ I have been expecting you since noon.” 

The man cast a look of contempt upon the sur- 
roundings. “ You haven’t put yourself out to give 
me a very cheerful homecoming,” he muttered. 

" I have nothing to make the room cheerful 
with,” she answered. 

“ You might at least have a fire.” 

H The coal is out, the chimney does not draw.” 


32 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ Hum. All that last quarter of a ton gone? ” 

“ It has lasted me three weeks. The weather 
has been very cold. I have been obliged to keep 
up a strong fire to keep from freezing,” she an- 
swered, mournfully. 

“ Is there anything in the place to eat? ” 

“ A portion of a loaf of bread. That is all.” 

“ Nice home for a man to come to,” sarcastically. 

“ If you forget to send me money, I cannot have 
things comfortable for you,” she replied. 

“ Money 1 Nothing but money. You seem to 
think I am made of money,” he growled. 

“ No; I do not think so; I have never been 
extravagant. You have only sent twenty-five 
dollars during the past six weeks; fifteen of that 
has gone for rent; I have managed to keep from 
starving on the balance. ” 

He made no reply; shoving himself into a chair, 
he moodily stared at the floor. Neither of them 
spoke for some time; finally the woman broke the 
silence. 

" You have not seen me in nearly two months; 
where have you been? ” 

“ Trying to make a living,” he answered, shortly, 
without raising his eyes. 

“ You have not been very successful? ” 

"No.” 

" How long do you propose to remain with me?” 

“ That depends on circumstances.” 

“ What do you mean? ” Anxiously. 

He did not reply at once; he evidently was 


A HEARTLESS PROPOSITION 33 

revolving something in his mind. Finally he 
looked up, and said: 

For the last year things have been going 
against me; I have found it a hard matter to pro- 
vide for us both.” 

“ Yes; I know all this.” 

“ I have had several opportunities where I might 
have bettered myself.” 

“ But I stood in your way,” she interrupted 
him. 

“ Yes; that’s about the size of it.” 

“ Well; ” she had grown quite calm; “ you have 
been a drawback to me; I could not turn from 
you; I felt that I was in duty bound to stick to 
you.” 

“ How considerate; ” sarcastically. 

“ I don’t suppose you appreciate it much; but it 
is a fact.” 

“ Well; proceed.” 

“ I might as well come right out. This thing 
must come to a focus. I can’t live on in this way 
any longer. I am broke. I haven’t five dollars in 
my pocket.” 

“ What do you mean by coming to a focus? ” 

“ Simply this. I have a chance to improve my 
condition. If I accept the offer made me, you will 
be in my way. I must leave you.” 

“Leave me!” she gasped, her eyes wild and 
startled. 

“ Yes, leave you, unless — 

“ Well. Speak out!” 

The Runaway Wife 3 


34 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ Unless you will agree to a proposition which I 
have to make.” 

“ And, if I agree to your proposition, then there 
will be no necessity of separation? ” 

“ None whatever. You will be surrounded by 
luxury. I shall be with you.” 

She rose from her chair. She looked him in the 
eyes. “ Albert,” she murmured, “ five years ago 
you won my heart. Your gentlemanly ways, your 
soft voice, made me forget my marriage vows, my 
home, husband, children, all. I robbed my loving 
husband, and fled with you. As long as the money 
lasted, you were kindness personified. But, when 
the money was gone; when we had to depend upon 
your exertions in order to live, then there came a 
change. You daily grew colder, more indifferent. 
We grew poor, were obliged to leave our com- 
fortable quarters, and move into cheaper ones. At 
last we came to this. For nearly a year we have 
barely existed. You know you have not exerted 
yourself to better our condition. You are a man, 
with brains. You could easily have found lucra- 
tive employment; but I have not complained — 
have never reproached you. You have left me 
alone in this dreary place for weeks at a time, still, 
I did not upbraid you. I thought you loved me. 
Upon your return you have always kissed me, until 
this time. Perhaps you were worried, did not 
think. Still, it sent a pang through my heart. I 
will not speak of it. Do you know why I have 
lived on, suffering from want and privation without 
murmuring, why I have consented to have my 


A HEARTLESS PROPOSITION 35 

jewelry, even my clothing pawned, why I have 
stood it all? Because I loved you. Love alone 
kept me up. To-night you come to me, and say 
you must leave me.” With a sob, a gulp, as if 
something were choking her: “ You say you must 
go from me unless I agree to some proposition. 
Well, I will confess that I love you yet. It would 
kill me to be parted from you forever, to know I 
would never see you again. So let me hear your 
proposition. If it will keep you by my side I will 
accept it if I can. But I know you will not ask 
me to do anything beyond my power. What is it, 
Albert? ” 

During the woman’s speech the man sat gazing 
at the smoking stove. Her words -struck him; 
they went to his heart, but they did not remain 
there. Looking up, he said: 

“ Your beauty attracted me. You are still 
beautiful; you possess the power of attracting 
others. A beautiful woman can command homage, 
wealth.” 

“ I do not understand you,” with a frightened 
glance. 

“ Then, I will make my meaning plain. I have 
still my diamond shirt studs. They are worth 
nearly three hundred dollars. I know where I can 
realize that sum upon them; I will dispose of them. 
With the money thus obtained, I will rent a flat in 
a different part of the city, will furnish the rooms 
elegantly. You shall be installed as mistress. 
During my stay in Chicago I have formed the 
acquaintance of men of wealth — men who enjoy 


36 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


the society of beautiful women; they shall be intro- 
duced to you. If, with your charms, you cannot 
force them to open their purses, you are not the 
woman I take you to be.” 

She heard him through, a sickening feeling of 
horror in her breast as she realized his meaning. 
Could this be the man she had left husband and 
children for? this the man she had loved? willing 
to sacrifice her to the lust of men? content, aye, 
willing, that she should live, and he share it? She 
turned away; her breast heaving, her brain reel- 
ing. 

“What do you think of my idea?” he asked, 
looking at her. 

She burst into a torrent of tears. 

“ You do not mean it,” she cried. “ You are 
only trying me. My God! have I not fallen low 
enough already? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” he answered, coolly. 
“ You are already stained; it won’t make you any 
worse to do as I have proposed.” 

“ And you would plunge me deeper in the mire 
of iniquity? ” she cried, in horror. 

“ Now, be sensible,” he growled. “There are 
hundreds of women, not one-half as beautiful and 
charming as yourself, who are riding in their car- 
riages, supported by men whose wealth they can 
command. Their life is one of luxurious ease; the 
world may talk about them behind their backs, but 
kneels before the power of their money. What do 
you or I care what the world may say. Come, it is 
not such a horrible thing. ” 


A HEARTLESS PROPOSITION 37 

“ And you can talk in this way to me. ” 

" Why not? I am trying to improve your condi- 
tion. This dreary garret is not so comfortable that 
you should prefer to stay here. I should think you 
would jump at the chance I offer. ” 

“ It is not the garret, Robert; no, not that. I 
have been happy in this garret, fori was with you; 
I thought you loved me. But, if I accept your 
proposition, and leave this dreary place behind me, 
I leave behind your love, my honor, all.” 

He sneered. 

“ Your honor you left behind you in Todmorden. 
My love for you. Bah! That has departed long 
ago. When poverty came in at the door, love flew 
out of the window. You know the old saying.” 

She staggered back, and grasped at the back of 
her chair, as she heard his cruel words — cruel, aye, 
brutal. 

“ So you love me no longer,” she muttered. 

“ The surroundings are not calculated to inspire 
love,” he sneered. 

“ And, if I accept your proposition, you will love 
me again ? ” 

“ Love you! Ten times more than I ever did. 
I will be convinced, then, that you desire to help me, 
to be of assistance to me.” 

He sprang forward eagerly, ready to take her in 
his arms the moment she murmured her consent. 
He had no doubt but what she would do it. Her 
next words surprised him. 

“ I will not accept your proposition,” she ex- 
claimed. 


38 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ You refuse? ” a dark scowl wrinkling his brow. 

“ Yes, I refuse. You would be content to see 
me become a creature of shame — a thing that man- 
kind would hate! You would eagerly accept a 
share, perhaps, a lion’s share, of my ill-gotten 
money. Your love can be bought by my shame. 
Then perish such love! Its presence withers and 
kills! Rather would I part from you — a thousand 
times — rather see your face no more, than pur- 
chase your love at such a fearful cost. ” 

“ Do you mean this? ” fiercely. 

“I do.” 

“ You’re a fool! ” 

" Perhaps in your estimation.” 

" Then, it is all over between us.” 

" As you wish.” 

He rose to his feet, and walked toward the door, 
she not seeming to notice him; only standing with 
closed eyes and compressed lips, grasping the back 
of the chair. 

With his hand on the knob, he turned, and said: 

11 It is rather cold outside; your coal is nearly 
exhausted; your half a loaf of bread will not last 
long; that bit of candle will probably go out in an 
hour. I think you’ll regret your determination 
before morning. Then it will be too late. Perhaps 
you’ll be obliged to do much worse than I propose 
— go out upon the streets and carry on your trade. 
Think! I am going.” 

She shuddered. His words were true. She 

would be obliged to do something. A mental 


A HEARTLESS PROPOSITION' 


39 

struggle took place in her breast. She knew he 
was waiting. 

“ Go,” she said, at last, with an effort. “ Leave 

_ »> 

me. 

“Very good. Good night.” And he was 
gone. 

She heard his footsteps descending the stairs 
growing fainter and fainter. Now she can hear 
them no more. He has gone. 

With a moan, she falls upon the cold, bare floor- 
sobbing, in her agony, she lies there. The stove 
continued to puff; the candle, with one expiring 
effort, went out; she was left in darkness. Out- 
side the winter wind howled, like the spirits of 
restless souls in torment. At last she rose and 
looked about the dark room. A terrible feeling 
of fear overcame her; alone, hungry and in the 
dark, she hurried to a closet in the corner of the 
room; her hands groped and found a box of 
matches. She re-lit the candle; it would not burn 
long. She only asked its feeble light for a moment 
— just long enough to permit her putting on her 
hat and shabby cloak. This was soon done; then, 
with a sad smile, a last long glance about the apart- 
ment, she opened the door and went out into the 
hall. The candle flickered and went out as she 
closed the door behind her. Down the dirty stairs 
to the street. She had determined how to end it 
it all. There was one refuge left for the unfor- 
tunate. The lake, blocked up with ice, was not 
far distant. She hurried along. Suddenly, in 
crossing the street, her foot slipped upon a slippery 


40 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


place, and she fell, striking her head. The next 
moment she was unconscious. 

The bitter wind surged down upon the insensible 
figure, lifting the luxuriant hair and tossing it in 
wild glee, freezing the blood in the unconscious 
form. 


CHAPTER VI. 

SAVED — BUT FOR WHAT? 

A HACK came whirling along Lake street from 
the depot. Seated therein was a man of probably 
thirty-five years; a stout, well-built man dressed in 
the height of fashion, his form encased in a seal- 
skin overcoat, his head protected by a cap of the 
same material. He had just come in upon the 
train, and was being driven to an hotel. 

“ Cussed bitter weather,” he growled, drawing 
his coat closer around him. “ I believe it’s colder 
here than up in the woods. That cussed lake 
breeds winds and cold.” 

The hack stopping suddenly, interrupted his 
thoughts. 

“What’s the matter,” he yelled at the driver. 
“ You ain’t at the hotel, are you?” 

“ No, sir. Wait a minute; I think there’s a 
woman lying in the street.” 

“ Some drunken thing,” muttered the occupant 
of the carriage. “ Come, driver, hurry up. I 
don’t want to freeze here.” 

“ And I don’t want this woman to freeze, either,” 
answered the man, getting off his box. 


SAVED — BUT FOR WHAT 


41 


With a muttered curse, the well-dressed man sat 
back in his seat to await the return of the driver. 
Suddenly a thought entered his mind — an agree- 
able one, to all appearance, for his eyes lit up, and 
he slapped his knee, then opened the carriage door 
and hurried to the spot where the driver was trying 
to revive the unconscious woman. 

“ Is she dead? ” he asked, curiously, reaching the 
driver’s side. 

“ No. But she would have been in ten minutes 
more froze to death.” 

The stranger struck a match, and scrutinized the 
woman’s features. 

“ A beauty,” he exclaimed, mentally. Then an 
evil light came to his eyes — a look of determina- 
tion. 

“ I know this lady, driver,” he cried. “ She is 
the daughter of a friend of mine. I can’t under- 
stand how she came to be in this predicament. 
Carry her to your hack, and I will go with you to 
her home.” 

The driver looks at him suspiciously for a 
moment, but, seeing only anxiety and alarm 
depicted upon the stranger’s countenance, he did 
as directed. In a few minutes the insensible 
woman was in the carriage. 

“ I am glad you knew her,” remarked the driver. 
“ Funny that you should happen to be with me, 
and find her.” 

“ An act of Providence, driver,” murmured the 
stranger, fervently. 

“ The Almighty directed our footsteps.” 


42 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ Seems like it. Where to, sir? ” 

The stranger gave an address upon West Wash- 
ington street. The neighborhood was respectable, 
and this fact quieted any suspicion on the part of 
the driver. He remounted his rig, and soon the 
carriage whirled along. 

“ A regular beauty,” murmured the stranger, 
gloating upon the insensible form upon the opposite 
seat. “ A figure like Venus; a face like an houri. 
By George! I’m in luck. ” 

The house was reached — a two-story dwelling 
of granite, neat and unobtrusive. 

The occupant of the carriage leaped out and 
sprang up the steps to the front door. His vigor- 
ous summons brought a woman in deshabille , 
hurrying to the entrance. 

“ You, Harry! ” she exclaimed, in surprise, as 
she saw and recognized the man. 

“ Yes, Josie. I arrived in the city to-night. I 
have brought a lady with me, who will claim your 
hospitality for a few days.” 

“Yes,” she answered, with a peculiar smile. 
“ Where is she? ” 

“ In the carriage, and unconscious. I’ll explain 
all after she is inside. I don’t want to keep you 
standing here. You’ll catch your death of cold.” 

“ It is cold,” she shivered. “ Have her brought 
in. ” 

“ Remember, she’s your sister, when the driver 
comes in.” 

“ I understand,” significantly. 

The well-dressed man returned to the carriage. 


SAVED — BUT FOR WHAT 43 

“ Carry the lady into the house, driver/**’ he said. 
“ Her sister has been very anxious about her/’ 

“ All right, sir/’ and the man lifted the uncon- 
scious one and carried her up the steps into the 
house. As the stranger paid him, he remarked, 
significantly: 

“ You need not mention this circumstance. The 
lady’s people are well to do, and do not wish their 
name to get into the papers.” 

“ I’ll not open my mouth,” answered the driver, 
to whom this request seemed perfectly natural. 
" You can trust to me to keep it quiet.” 

“You won’t lose anything by it,” and the man 
slipped a roll of bills into the driver’s hands. 

“ You are generous, sir; I’ll keep quiet,” and he 
hurried down the steps. 

And he would keep quiet; money had effectually 
closed his mouth. 

The half-frozen woman was carried into a warm 
room, and vigorous efforts made to restore her to 
consciousness. The woman (Josie) had slipped 
on a loose wrapper, and exerted herself to bring 
back life to the unfortunate one. 

The man who had been called Harry briefly gave 
her the facts of the finding of the beautiful one, 
and also outlined his plans regarding her, to all of 
which Josie listened and said nothing. 

Inside of a quarter of an hour the unconscious 
one gave signs of returning animation. The man 
saw them with delight. 

“ Prepare a nice supper in the next room, Josie, 


44 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


and some wine; she may wish refreshments,” he 
said. 

“ Very well, Harry, you are master here when 
you come,” answered Josie. 

The next moment she left the room. 

A heavy sigh, a fluttering of the eyelids, and 
the woman recovered consciousness. Opening her 
eyes, she encountered the look of kindly interest 
in the black orbs of a man who bent over her; she 
sat up, and looked about the warm, cozy apart- 
ment in wonder. 

When she had fallen, she was upon Lake street, 
the bitter wind cutting through her like a knife; 
now she was lying upon a soft couch, in a warm 
room, in the society of a stranger. 

“ You are amazed at finding yourself here,” 
murmured the man. 

“ Yes; ” brushing the long, flowing hair from her 
face; “ how came I here? ” 

In a soft voice, the man related the circumstances. 
“ You would have frozen if I had not seen you and 
brought you home,” he concluded. 

“Then, you saved my life?” she murmured, 
gratefully. 

“ Any other man would have done the same,” he 
answered. “ I was fortunate enough to have been 
passing.” 

She sat and looked around her. What a contrast 
was this pretty room to her desolate attic room; 
how much brighter everything seemed. The gas, 
protected by globes of delicately tinted pink glass, 
cast a mellow radiance around upon the furniture, 


SAVED — BUT FOR WHAT 


45 


the carpet, all. As she thought of her miserable 
lodging, she shuddered. Could she ever return to 
it? She must; there was no other alternative. 
This stranger, who had discovered her by accident, 
and brought her to his residence, could not keep 
her there; as soon as she was sufficiently recovered, 
she must go. 

The stranger noticed the shudder. “ You are 
chilled through,” he cried. “ You need something 
warm inside to drive out the effects of your expos- 
ure.” 

She thanked him. Yes; she did need some- 
thing warm inside, something to thaw the ice 
about her heart. She felt hungry; she had eaten 
nothing since early morning. 

“ When you are yourself again, you must partake 
of some refreshments,” said the kind (?) stranger. 
“ Thinking, perhaps, you would like something of 
the kind, I have ordered a lunch prepared. You 
will accept it? ” 

She thanked him with her eyes. She would 
gladly accept the food; she needed it sorely. 
“ You are too kind,” she answered. 

“ Not at all,” he cried. Then, looking at her 
shabby dress, her bedraggled skirts: “ Perhaps 
you would like to change your costume. My sister 
(who is the owner of this house) is about your size. 
She has clothing in plenty; she will be only too 
happy to serve you.” 

“ But I do not like to impose upon her. Besides, 
I must leave here soon.” 

“ Don’t worry about that. Your present costume 


4 6 THE RUNAWAY WIFE 

must be uncomfortable. Your dress is a mass of 
ice. I could not allow you to go out of this house 
to-night, at any rate. In your weak state you 
would become an easy victim to the storm, and, 
perhaps, freeze ere you reached your home. 
Come, be guided by me. It will be better for 
you.” 

He seemed so anxious to minister to her wants, 
so desirous of making her comfortable, that she felt 
she could not refuse him. So, with a grateful smile, 
she yielded to his suggestions. 

The supposed sister entered the room at this 
moment. 

“ This is my sister, Josie Oglethorpe. My own 
name is Henry Oglethorpe ; may I ask your own? ” 

“ My name is Elizabeth Drumley,” answered the 
grateful woman. 

“ Ah, an English name, I take it.” 

“Yes; I came from England,” with a sigh, as 
the memories of home flashed through her mind. 

“ Very well, Miss Drumley ; I will entrust you 
to the care of my sister. She will fix you up in 
good shape, then we will have the lunch I spoke 
of.” 

She rose and followed the sister, who seemed 
only too anxious to render her a service. She was 
conducted to a bath-room, where she lingered for 
a time in the lukewarm water, that seemed to warm 
her through. The sister brought her a complete 
change of clothing, which fitted her to a nicety. 
Josie was about her size, as the brother had said. 
Dressed in the loose, flowing wrapper, her luxu- 


SAVED — BUT FOR WHAT 


47 


rious hair dressed and coiled up, with the look of 
gratitude in her eyes, Elizabeth Drumley was a 
beautiful woman — magnificent in form and carriage 
— a queen among women. 

So Harry Oglethorpe thought as his evil eyes 
gloated upon her as she again stood before him. 

“ I’m in luck,” he muttered to himself again, as 
he swept her from head to foot with one swift 
glance. 

A good judge of female loveliness was this 
philanthropical gentleman. He had had experience. 

The dainty lunch was awaiting them. Gallantly 
he escorted her to the adjoining room. The beauty 
of the surroundings, the light of the chandelier flash- 
ing upon the cut-glass decanters of ruby wine, the 
agreeable odor of the food, went to the woman’s 
heart. Again she thought how different from her 
bleak garret; again she shuddered as she thought 
of returning there. She could not; she would 
not, she determined. Anything — even a life of 
shame — in preference to cold and privation. She 
half regretted that she had not accepted Albert 
Greenleaf’s proposition; but it was too late now. 
Fate had decreed that they must separate. His 
words came to her mind: “ You are beautiful; you 
can attract men.” Yes; he had spoken truly. She 
was beautiful; she would use her beauty. 

She sat down to the table. The sister excused 
herself, and left the room. She was alone with this 
man, who seemed so kind, almost tender. Perhaps 
he was attracted by her beauty. 

“Now, don’t stand upon ceremony. Eat, drink 


48 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


and be merry, for to-morrow you may die,” cried 
her host, jovially. “ You will find some potted par- 
tridges there on your left, some stewed oysters 
before you. Forget that you are a stranger, and 
make yourself at home. See; I am not standing 
upon ceremony,” and, indeed, he was not. He had 
filled his plate, and was eating as if he enjoyed it. 

She followed his advice. Never had food tasted 
so good before; and such food, the most costly 
viands that money could purchase. She ate heartily. 

He opened a bottle of champagne, and filled a 
glass to the brim with the sparkling liquid. 

“ Champagne while you are eating, port after you 
have finished,” he cried. " Allow me to toast you: 

‘ Here’s to your complete recovery and future good 
health.’” 

She blushed and drained the glass. It was 
pleasant, agreeable to the palate, and how it warmed 
her to her heart’s core. 

“ Nothing like champagne to drive away dull 
care,” cried her host, refilling her glass. “ Drink; 
don’t be afraid of it, it won’t hurt you; and see, 
there’s plenty of it,” referring to a case of the wine 
which stood near. 

She drained the second glass. Her warm blood 
danced merrily through her veins. True, nothing 
like champagne to drive away dull care. Away 
with gloomy feelings and despondent thoughts; 
make the most of life. 

She continued this delightful meal, a heavenly 
repast. Her companion had poured some more of 
the sparkling, hissing liquor into her glass. He 


SAVED — BUT FOR WHAT 


49 


kept it filled. She drank it, and another, and still 
another. She could feel the sensation of delicious 
languor creeping over her; her eyes were flashing; 
wild, delicious thoughts came flitting through her 
brain; how warm she felt; how pleasant, even rap- 
turous, were her sensations. 

She could see her companion leave his chair 
opposite to her and come to her side. 

“ You are very beautiful,” she heard him mur- 
mur. 

Then she felt his lips pressed to her hair. 

Beautiful! Her beauty had attracted him. He 
was her slave. The thought surged through her 
mind. Now she can see him sitting by her side, 
all in a dim, uncertain way. He is whispering 
words of love in her ear; they fill her, thrill her 
with rapture. He asks her if she cannot love him. 
Love him? Why not? Of course she can. She 
grows wild, reckless; the champagne is doing its 
work. He has his arms about her; she does not 
resist. His hot breath is scorching her cheek; 
his passionate kisses are upon her lips; he is drink- 
ing in the sweetness of her fluttering breath. With 
a convulsive movement, a cry of ardent passion, she 
returns his kisses. He has her in his arms, press- 
ing her to his breast. The lights dance before her 
eyes; the surroundings become dim; she floats 
away, as if upon a yielding cloud of almost downy 
softness, and knows no more. 

The wine has done its work! 


The Runaway Wife 4 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


50 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE DEN IN THE WOODS. 

An hour before the train bearing Joseph Drum- 
ley to the city of Chicago, arrived, another, going 
from the city, rolled out of the Union Depot, bear- 
ing away the wife he had come to seek. Elizabeth 
Drumley had followed out the determination made 
by her that fatal night. In the morning she dis- 
covered all, knew she had been drugged, and under- 
stood for what purpose. She did not regret it; 
she had made up her mind to cast womanhood 
and honor to the winds; she determined to follow 
the path to its bitter end, that her feet had started 
upon. “ Better that than poverty,” she argued to 
her conscience; she became reckless. Josie Ogle- 
thorpe was a well-known character, and took great 
pains to help along her willing sister in shame. 

For three months she remained in the house. 
At the end of that time the jealousy of her compan- 
ion was aroused by the fact of her especial friend 
growing too intimate with the woman who had 
been saved from the biting blasts of the December 
winds, and so they separated; the erring wife going 
with the man Henry to the Northwest; Josie, 
happy and reconciled, to her lover. Henry Ogle- 
thorpe was one of the most unprincipled characters 
that infested that section of the country where the 
great lumber industries compel the employ of 
hundreds of men. None understood as well as he 
the debasing passion of mankind, and, for years, he 


THE DEN IN THE WOODS 5 1 

had turned the knowledge to his profit. In the 
midst of the dense forests he had erected a house, 
a large, roomy building, in which he had bar- 
room, dance hall, and “ bagnio ” combined. In 
the spring, when the lumbermen were paid off, he 
reaped a harvest. They knew where they could 
go and spend their money. He provided for their 
desires, catered to their depraved tastes. To this 
den in the woods he was conducting Elizabeth 
Drumley. He had not been able to get her to con- 
sent as long as the pleasures of the city were open 
to her; but, when the quarrel had taken place 
between her and Josie, he found her willing to 
accompany him. He had not told her of the 
character of the place, knew she would shrink in 
horror from the very thought of becoming an 
inmate of this den; so he wisely kept silent as to 
the true character of the house in the woods, 
and the rough men she would be brought in con- 
tact with. Once there, she would be powerless to 
escape. The place was inclosed by a high fence, 
was miles from a railway station, and at night 
furious bloodhounds were allowed to run free in the 
space between the house and the fence. 

All this he kept to himself; she would know it 
when too late. 

It was dusk when the train stopped at a small 
wayside station. Elizabeth shuddered involun- 
tarily as she stepped off the platform of the car, 
and found herself upon the narrow platform of the 
station. 

“ What a dark, gloomy place! ” she cried. 


52 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ You are in the country now, my dear,” an- 
swered Oglethorpe. “ The stations here are not as 
comfortable and commodious as the depots in Chi- 
cago; there is not so much traffic here.” 

“ Have we far to go? ” she asked, as he assisted 
her into the wagon which he had ordered to be at 
the station. 

“A few miles,” he answered. “You will find 
everything bright and pleasant when we reach our 
journey’s end.” 

“ Anything would be an improvement upon this,” 
she cried, shuddering. 

He made no reply, but got into the wagon and 
took the seat by her side. 

Night came on; it seemed to her the blackest 
night she had ever seen. The road wound its 
tortuous way through the thickest of the forest; 
the March wind whistling through the tree-tops 
filled her with unmistakable terror. On over 
stumps and the half-buried trunks of trees, through 
swamp and mire. 

“ Will we ever get there?” she muttered, petu- 
lantly, a dozen times. 

Each time the man by her side assured her that 
they had not much farther to go, and still the miles 
seemed to lengthen. 

She looked out of the wagon. Who could live 
in such a place as this? Nothing but trees; no 
sign of a living habitation. About ten o’clock 
she saw in the distance what appeared to be a fort; 
a high board fence, each board being pointed at the 


THE DEN IN THE WOODS 53 

top; the roof of a long building appearing above 
the top of the fence. 

“ What place is that? ” she asked, curiously. 

“ That is my house; we have reached our jour- 
ney’s end.” She shrank in terror at his words. 
That the place that was to be her residence? that 
dark, dismal, forbidding structure? Miles from 
the railway, from human beings, it seemed to her 
isolated in the density of the forest. One might 
die, be murdered here, and no one would be wiser. 
It was too horrible. She covered her face with 
her hands. 

Oglethorpe noticed the action. 

“ You don’t seem to be favorably impressed with 
your future home,” he remarked, with a grim 
smile. 

“ No; it is so dreary, so dismal.” 

“ Well, it don’t look very prepossessing, I must 
admit. But that is because it is night. In the 
daylight it looks better; besides, you’re not accus- 
tomed to it yet. Wait until you get acquainted, 
you’ll like it then.” 

“ I can never like this place. I don’t think I can 
stay here,” she cried. 

“ Oh, I guess you can. Wait a day or two,” he 
answered. 

They had reached the large wooden gate that 
opened into the yard. A shout from the bearded 
man who had been driving them aroused the 
echoes, and a furious barking from the inside. 

“ You can hear my pets,” commented Ogle- 
thorpe, nodding toward the inclosure. 


54 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ You keep dogs here? ” in a frightened tone. 

“Yes. Four of the largest bloodhounds in 
America. I have named them Tiger, Lion, Leop- 
ard and Panther. ” 

“Why?” hardly knowing why she asked the 
question. 

“ They possess the ferocious attributes of the 
four wild beasts I have named them after. They 
actually tore a girl in pieces not long ago.” 

She shrank in fear. Surrounded by ferocious 
wild beasts! What a prospect! 

“ How did they come to do this?” she whis- 
pered, too horrified to speak loud. 

“ Ah! She came out into the yard after night, 
and the dogs fell upon her. She was a corpse 
before we could call them off.” He spoke non- 
chalantly, indifferently, as if it were a matter of 
little importance. 

“ This is horrible! ” she gasped. 

“ It makes you feel uncomfortable, I see. Well, 
if you stay in the house at night, they won’t harm 
you; it is only at night that we give them their 
liberty; in the day-time they are tied up.” 

The gates were opened at this juncture, and the 
wagon rattled into the yard. The sound of music 
and dancing struck upon her ear; looking about 
her, she saw a long hall, apparently, through the 
windows of which the light shone out into the 
inclosure. Inside she could see rough-looking 
men whirling about their female companions to the 
time of the music, which she could distinguish as 
being produced by a violin, cornet, andpiano 0 


THE DEN IN THE WOODS 55 

The four dogs leaped forward as the wagon 
entered, barking and ferocious. In the dim light 
she could see their monstrous size, and, looking in 
terror upon them, shuddered as she saw their 
glistening teeth, red mouth, and lolling tongues. 

“ And they are let loose at night,” she thought, 
as she looked upon them. 

“ Down, boys! ” commanded Oglethorpe, as he 
alighted from the wagon. The dogs’ fierce barking 
changed to short, quick yelps of delight. They 
recognized their master. 

“ Down, sir! ” he reiterated. The brutes became 
less demonstrative. 

“ Tie them up for ten minutes,” he commanded, 
speaking to the fellow who had opened the gates. 
The brawny man whistled for the dogs to follow 
him, and walked up the yard. They obeyed him, 
and in a few moments' the woman could hear them 
tugging at their chains. 

“ You can alight now,” said Oglethorpe, and she 
descended to the earth. 

“ We will have some supper,” he said. “ This 
way. ” 

With heavy heart, she followed him, through a 
door, along a narrow passage, into a room which 
had the appearance of a dining-room. 

The long table, capable of accommodating twenty 
people, was roughly made of pine; the chairs were 
of hardwood, and unpainted. The walls of the 
room were rough plastered, and whitewashed, 
being adorned here and there with flashy pictures. 
A kerosene lamp was burning on the table. He 


56 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


turned it up, and, throwing himself into one of the 
chairs, said. 

“ Home again. What do you think of our dim 
ing-room? ” 

She made no reply, only looked about her, with 
disgust plainly delineated upon her countenance. 

“ Don’t like it, eh! Actions speak louder than 
words. We’ll have supper soon.” 

A tall, angular woman, clad in a clean but shabby 
dress, with a look of melancholy upon her pale face, 
entered at this moment. 

“Hello, Sadie!” shouted Oglethorpe. “By 
George, you’re growing young again. This is a 
new boarder, Miss Elizabeth Drumley. We can 
call her Betty for short. We’re nearly famished. 
Prepare some supper for us.” 

The woman nodded her head, and left the room, 
a look of pity in her eyes. 

“ You’d hardly believe that Sadie is only thirty- 
five years old, would you? Well, that’s her age. 
She has been here for ten years. She was a beauty 
when she first came. Limbs like an antelope, 
eyes like a gazelle. She broke down in service,” 
and he uttered a short laugh that cut Betty to the 
heart. 

“ Broke down in service,” she thought. “ Why 
had she not left the place.” 

She did not speak aloud, but the horrible thought 
of what her life must be here, in this place, appalled 
her. 

“ She once tried to get away,” continued the 


THE DEN IN THE WOODS 57 

man, as if to himself; “ but the dogs chased her 
into the woods, and we captured her. ” 

Captured her! What could this man mean. 

She rose from her seat and turned upon him. 
“ Do you mean to say you pursued and brought 
back a woman who wished to leave this place? ” 

“ That’s exactly what we did.” 

“ But the women in your house are not slaves? ” 

“ Not exactly. But, when they once enter those 
gates we drove through to-night, they never go 
through them again.” 

“ Never go through them again? ” she gasped. 

“ No; not until they’re carried through. Our 
graveyard is not far distant; only out in the woods 
a short distance. As you are a new one, I must 
favor you a little. I’ll show you the sights.” 

She sat dumbfounded. In a prison! never 
more to go out into the world again! ferocious 
brutes to track her down! But it cannot be. 
This man must be joking; he clearly loves a jest. 
She looks up into his face. 

“ Harry,” she murmurs, in a scarcely audible 
tone; “ you are jesting with me; you surely do 
not mean what you have just said; it cannot be 
true.” 

He burst into a loud laugh. 

“True! You will find that it is true. Come, 
Betty, you may as well know it now as any other 
time. What I have told you, is right. The 
inmates of my house never leave it until death 
steps in and takes them off. 

“ By George, it’s too hard a matter to get girls 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


5 * 

up here, to let them go whenever they happen to 
get dissatisfied. There ain’t one of ’em but what 
would pack up and leave the day after they got 
here. You would go now if I’d let you, and the 
rest of ’em have all been the same. I must pro- 
tect myself, so I take precautions to keep them 
from taking French leave. Now you can under- 
stand it all, and we will eat suppenas soon as Sadie 
brings it.” 

With these words, spoken calmly and in a busi- 
ness-like tone, Oglethorpe removed his overcoat 
and drew his chair up to the table, while the woman, 
nearly fainting, lay back in the hard chair with a 
sense of sickening horror at her heart. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A FRIEND IN NEED. 

The woman Sadie brought in the food. Ogle- 
thorpe ate as if he was indeed famished. The 
heavy-hearted woman could not eat. The tenor of 
her companion’s words, burning into her brain, 
banished her appetite. 

“ Come, you’d better eat,” he said, roughly, his 
mouth full. “ You’ll need to keep up your appetite 
here ; you’ll need all your strength. ” 

" I am not hungry,” she murmured. 

41 1 suppose what I have told you has driven off 
your appetite. Never mind, it won’t be so hard 
for you; you’re my particular favorite, I’ll see that 
it is made easy for you. Don’t worry, this place is 


A FRIEND IN NEED 59 

as good as any other when you get used to it. 
Here, try some of this chicken.” 

Mechanically she forced herself to eat, her mind 
busy while she swallowed the food, which seemed 
to stick in her throat. 

“ There must certainly be some means of escap- 
ing from this place,” she thought. “ I cannot 
remain here; I must be careful and outwit this man; 
I can stand it for a few days. If I can succeed in 
throwing him off his guard, I will not be watched, 
and, in some way, I can get away.” 

These thoughts gave her hope, the look of terror 
vanished from her eyes, she began to eat as if she 
enjoyed it, and, really, her appetite had returned 
to her. 

Oglethorpe noticed it. 

“ Ah, I see you’re beginningto enjoy your supper. 
That’s right; you’ll find in a day or so that you 
won’t want to leave the place, you’ll grow to like it; 
so much life, so much pleasure. Listen!” 

He holds up his hand. 

Faintly to her ears came the sounds of revelry, 
women’s laughter, the coarser tones of male voices. 

“ They are enjoying themselves,” he remarked. 
“ That don’t sound as if there was much sorrow 
here, does it? ” 

“ No. They may be happy.” 

“ And so will you be. Wait.” 

She arose, and went to him; putting one arm 
around his neck, she murmured: 

“ I could be happy anywhere with you, Harry. 

I felt alarmed at first, at what you told me about 


6o 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


the dogs, and the graveyard, and 90 on. But I 
know you love me, and I can be contented here, as 
soon as I grow accustomed to it.” 

He drew her head down and kissed her. 

“ Of course you can, Betty. You shall be my 
own little wife. Of course, you’ll have to go in the 
dance hall, and so forth; but I’ll see that you have 
an easy time of it. I knew you’d become resigned; 
I knew you were a sensible woman.” 

She congratulated herself; he had been taken 
in completely by her action! she would escape, 
and before many days. He finished his meal, and 
applied a match to his cigar. 

“ Do you feel tired? ” he asked, blowing out a 
cloud of smoke. 

“ Not very,” she answered, eager to do anything 
to make him feel that she was content. 

“ I’ll take you into the dance-hall there. Don’t 
mind the rough fellows you’ll meet there. They’re 
like an oyster: rough on the outside, but good at 
heart.” 

With these words he arose, and led the way to 
the hall, from which proceeded the music and sounds 
of revelry. They were obliged to pass through 
several rooms before they reached the place in 
question. As they did so, the woman seemed to 
detect the figures of men and women sitting in the 
darkness of the rooms; and once she could have 
sworn she heard a kiss; but she said nothing, and 
closely followed Oglethorpe. 

He threw open a door, and the next moment the 
woman beheld a sight such as she had never seen 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


6l 


before — a long, narrow hall, probably fifty or sixty 
feet long by twenty wide, thronged with dancing 
couples, male and female; the women, some 
young and still beautiful, clad in costumes of vari- 
ous designs and corresponding conditions, some 
old, others new; the men, all rough, and, for the 
most part, bearded. Some wore boots, into which 
their pantaloons were tucked; others had heavy 
stockings of red worsted pulled up over their 
trousers. Seated above a platform about twelve 
feet square were three men, the musicians. The 
leader, an old man with a very red nose and a bald 
head, played the violin with great skill, and called 
out the figures of the quadrille at the same time. 
The other instruments were a cornet, performed 
upon by a young man, whose red face and pimpled 
forehead gave silent proof of his debauched and 
dissipated character; and a cracked and tin-panny 
old piano, played upon by a woman, who, like 
Sadie, had evidently “ broken down in service.” 

For some time she stood and gazed upon the 
scene; it was exhilarating, at any rate. 

She had not danced since she left home; she 
believed that she would enjoy one good, old-time 
quadrille. 

" Take your partners to the bar,” yelled the old 
gent with the violin. The quadrille was over. 

Suddenly, out of the crowd came a man not at 
all like the rest; he was not bearded, his hair was 
neatly dressed, his clothing was new and rather 
flashy; a handsome black mustache was waxed out 
at the ends, like two slate pencils. His face was 


62 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


not unhandsome; in fact, in a crowd, he would have 
passed as a decidedly handsome fellow; but, upon 
close examination, a cunning leer in the eye, a 
hard look about the mouth, would have caused that 
decision to undergo a change. He approached the 
proprietor of the place, and was close upon him 
before Oglethorpe noticed him; then he scowled 
slightly, evidently not well pleased at the sight of 
the man. 

“How are you, Harry!” cried the newcomer, 
putting out his hand, which “ Harry” shook stiffly. 
“ I didn’t know you was coming back this 
week.” 

“ I decided suddenly.” 

“ You must have,” casting a glance of admiration 
in the direction of Betty. “ Stranger? ” he added, 
referring to the silent woman. 

“Yes.” 

“ Glad to see you, miss,” bowing profoundly, 
as if he had been introduced. 

Betty was obliged to smile in spite of herself. 

At that moment the music started for another 
dance. 

“ Will you dance with me? ” asked the stranger. 

She looked at her companion inquiringly. He 
seemed annoyed, but nodded his head. 

The next moment she was half way across the 
floor. She really enjoyed her dance. It took her 
mind off her troubles, and made the blood course 
merrily through her veins. 

“ We won’t go back to Oglethorpe,” whispered 
her companion. “ He don’t like me very well, and 


A FRIEND IN NEED 63 

I won’t get another chance to speak to you. I 
want to ask you a few questions.” 

Filled with surprise that this man should want to 
question her, she followed him to a seat, not far 
from the musician’s platform. 

As they sat down, he said: 

“ I was wondering how you came to come up 
here in the woods.” 

“ I was wondering the same thing about you,” 
she replied. 

“ Were you, now? Well, that’s funny. I can 
easily explain my business. I am here for the 
same purpose that Oglethorpe is, to work these 
raft hoppers for their dust.” 

“ I don’t understand you.” 

“ Oh, I run a monte game, and get some of the 
money out of these fellows.” 

“ Oh, you’re a gambler? ” 

“ If you choose to put it in that light. They 
generally call me a swindler.” 

“ Do they? ” 

“ Yes. That’s the reason there ain’t much love 
lost between me and Oglethorpe. He wants it 
all.” 

“ I see.” 

“ Now I have explained my business, I’d like you 
to tell me how you came here.” 

“ I came with Harry Oglethorpe.” 

“ I suppose so ; but .did he tell you the kind of 
a place he was bringing you to? ” 

“ No. If he had, I should not have come.” 

“ I thought as much. Women as handsome as 


64 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


you are, usually aspire higher than a Wisconsin 
lumberman’s joint.” 

“ I only arrived to-night. ” 

“ And would be glad to leave already, I suppose,” 
quickly, with a significant look. 

She caught the look ; it meant much. Could she 
trust this man, whom she had known but a short 
time? Perhaps he was connected with the house ; 
perhaps this was only a trick to catch the new- 
comers. But no ; she had seen the look of dislike 
upon Oglethorpe’s face ; she felt that this man was 
what he represented himself to be — a land-shark. 
She determined to trust him. 

“ Yes ; I would leave here at once if I could.” 

“ I thought so. It’s a pretty hard thing for a girl 
to get away from this place.” 

“ I believe you,” shuddering as she thought of 
the dogs. 

“ Unless ” (he lowered his voice) " she had some 
one to help her from the outside.” 

She gave a start. He would help her. She 
felt it. 

“ Could it be done in that way? ” she whispered. 

“ Yes, providing she had a room facing the north 
side.” 

“ I don’t understand you.” 

“ I will explain. The fence on the north side is 
built within five feet of the house. A man could 
easily place a ladder against the outside, and run a 
board from the top of it to the windows on the floor 
above; the girl could cross over on this board, 
descend the other side of the fence, by the means 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


65 


of the ladder, and join her friend. A good horse, 
harnessed to a light buggy, could make the station 
in an hour and a half, and, by arranging the time 
properly, could catch the train without being com- 
pelled to wait any great length of time. You 
understand.” 

“ Yes, yes, and you will help me? ” she cried, 
eagerly. 

“ Speak low. These people may hear you and 
report to the Grand Mogul, then good-bye all hope 
of escape.” He spoke warningly. 

She saw she must be careful. 

“ If this can be so easily done, why has no one 
attempted it? ” she asked. 

“ For the reason that these men do not wish to 
lose their female companions. They would not 
help them to escape; rather join in the pursuit to 
bring them back. ” 

“ Oh, I can understand.” Then, suddenly: “Why 
have you interested yourself in me? ” 

“ For a mercenary purpose,” he answered, quietly. 
“ You would be of service to me.” 

“ In what v/ay ? ” 

“ I will explain, but briefly, as the music will start 
up soon, and we must join in the dance, in order 
to remain together for a short time longer. But, 
first, allow me to introduce myself My name is 
Joe Horton, familiarly known as “ Bowery Joe.” 
Among my various enterprises — which I might 
say right here are for the purpose of relieving 
mankind of their surplus wealth-— is one in which 
The Runaway Wife y 


66 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


I take great pride, namely, appropriating a portion 
of the stock in trade of certain merchants.” 

“ Stealing! ” with a look of horror. 

" Some people call it by that disagreeable title. 
I simply term it appropriating; a bigger word and a 
more euphonious one.” 

“ Well? ” eager to hear the rest. 

“ I have certain schemes which I cannot work 
well without the assistance of a lady. Mark you, 
I say lady. A common, ordinary woman Would 
not do. She must be a lady in dress and general 
appearance. You would fill the bill.” 

“ Then, you wish me to become a thief? ” with 
some indignation. 

“ No, not that . Only an appropriator.” 

She smiled; the man amused her. 

“ But the danger,” she murmured. 

“ There is comparatively little risk in my way of 
working. I do not propose to rush into a store 
and make way with a roll of flannel or a case of 
watches. No; not that. I have a different way of 
working, and one that you would see, when you 
understood it, was not at all risky.” 

“ Take your partners for a quadrille,” shouted 
the violinist. 

“ We will continue our conversation after the 
dance,” whispered the confidence man and 
“ appropriator,” as they took their places. 

All through the dance her mind was busy. To 
become a thief, a criminal, was more than she bar- 
gained for. But he assured her there was no risk. 
She had already preyed upon mankind; would this 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


6 ; 


be any worse? besides, she could escape from this 
loathsome place, and then, after reaching a place 
of safety — she understood this man’s scheme — if 
she did not care to associate herself with him, she 
could easily say so. But would that be acting 
fairly to him, after all his kindness? 

The quadrille was over; her companion con- 
ducted her to the seat formerly occupied by them. 

“ Have you thought it over? ” he whispered, 
when they were seated. 

“ Yes, I will assist you in your plans, providing I 
see there is no great risk,” she answered. 

His cunning eyes gleamed. 

“ Good! You will be an invaluable assistant. 
We shall both be rich. Now to plan the escape. 
It cannot be effected to-night. It is too late. But 
to-morrow night, yes! The Eastern-bound train 
stops at Marinette at 2: 10. In order to make it, we 
must leave here at twelve. Be sure and have a 
room assigned to you upon the north side. We 
are now sitting on the side I mean. At a few 
minutes before twelve be in your room, wave a 
light three times before your window, then dress 
yourself in some dark costume, and raise the sash. 
Cross the board bravely, which I shall shove from 
the fence to your window-sill, and, in five minutes, 
you’ll be by my side, in a light buggy, and driving 
like the old Harry across the country. Then fare- 
well to Oglethorpe’s prison, and all-hail sweet 
liberty and fortune! ” 

He had spoken so eagerly that she did not hear 
the sound of approaching footsteps, almost forgot 


68 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


the house in which she was, until a cold, harsh voice 
said : 

“ You seem to have become reconciled soon ; 
you are evidently enjoying yourself.” 

She recognized the voice, and felt her companion 
start to his feet. 

She looked up, and saw the angry face of Harry 
Oglethorpe. 

With quick sarcasm, she answered : “You told 
me I should grow to like the place. You prophesied 
correctly ; I do like the place. I feel that I should 
be content to live here all my life. Such delightful 
music, such pleasure, and such an assemblage of 
gentlemen and ladies. I must leave you, Mr. Hor- 
ton. Perhaps I shall meet you again soon,” and, 
with a haughty step, she crossed the dance-hall. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE ESCAPE. 

As SHE reached the further end of the hall, she 
heard Oglethorpe coming behind her. The next 
moment he was by her side. 

“ Come into the room; I wish to speak to you,” 
he commanded. 

She obeyed him. 

Closing the door, and turning up a lamp which 
was burning low upon a table, he demanded: 

“ What were you two talking about when I came 
up?” 

“ Mr. Horton was amusing me with an incident 


THE ESCAPE 69 

of his early life,” she answered, quietly looking him 
in the face. 

“ Indeed,” with a sneer; “ you seemed inter- 
ested. ” 

“ I was; he is an interesting companion.” 

“ Perhaps more so than I am,” savagely. 

She laughed. 

“ You’re getting jealous,” she cried. 

He flushed. 

“ I don’t like to see you talking to a man like 
that,” he growled. 

“ Why, what is the matter with Mr. Horton? He 
seemed to me to be the only gentleman in the whole 
crowd. ” 

“ He is a thief.” 

“ Is he?” 

“ Yes; a black-leg scoundrel, a gambler, and all- 
round confidence man.” 

“ Quite a long list of honorary titles. ” 

“ He is all that and more. I don’t want you to 
speak to him again.” 

“ Very well. It is a matter of supreme indiffer- 
ence to me.* I thought you wished me to entertain 
your guests. I did not know you entertained any 
harsh feelings toward Mr. Horton. You gave me 
permission to dance with him; but, if you desire 
me not to notice him, I shall obey you.” 

“ You’re a good girl, Betty,” he cried, his anger 
all gone, clasping her in his arms. 

“ Do you think so? ” 

" I do. I am a jealous fool.” 

“ Don’t call yourself hard names. Come, kiss 


7 ° 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


me, and tell me where I am to sleep; I am so 
awfully tired. Give me a room all to myself. I 
can rest easier.” 

“ Very well. You can have a room on the south 
side; it’s much warmer on that side of the house.” 

She started, but quickly recovered herself. 

“ Do you know, Harry, I’d much rather be on 
the other side. I prefer a cold room.” 

" Since when? ” sharply. 

“Why, always,” innocently. 

He glanced at her suspiciously, but her ±ace was 
calm and innocent; so he said: 

“ Very good. You shall have a room on the 
north side. Sadie will show you. Wait here a 
moment. I’ll send her to you. But, remember, 
you are not to keep this room all the time,” signifi- 
cantly. 

“ Go and send Sadie to me,” playfully. “ Of 
course I understand you.” 

He left her. She clasped her hands in thankful- 
ness. She had gained one point. 

The tall woman with the melancholy counte- 
nance conducted her to a cold, bleak apartment on 
the north side of the house. 

“ You will find it very cold here,” she said, as she 
opened the door. 

“ Never mind that; I like a cold bed-room.” 

A deliberate lie, but a necessary one. 

“ Oh; Do you? Then, you are the only one in 
the house that does; you are the only one on this 
side.” 

“ So much the better,” thought Betty. 


THE ESCAPE 


71 


“ Good night/’ said the woman. 

“ Good night.” 

She did not remove all her clothing; she was 
tired, and the room was cold, so she jumped into 
bed with all her underskirts on; she slept almost 
as soon as her head touched the pillow. It was 
nearly noon when she awoke. At first she did not 
know where she was, but in a moment it all came 
to her; but she felt no uneasiness, no heart pang; 
she had the hope of escape before her eyes. She 
arose, and slipped on her dress, and went down- 
stairs. Breakfast was on the table. They were all 
late risers, the inmates of this house — “ Ogle- 
thorpe’s prison,” as Bowery Joe had dubbed it. 

She ate a hearty meal. The afternoon was passed 
in the company of the master of this desolate den. 
He was in the best of spirits, in a better humor than 
the inmates usually found him. He showed her all 
over the place, took her to the kennels of the fierce 
brutes, which lay blinking at her savagely. Dusk 
soon came — then night. The habitues of the place 
gathered at nightfall, even in larger numbers than 
the previous night. She mixed with the throng in 
the dance-hall, keeping an eye on the time as 
ticked out by the large clock upon the wall. At 
fifteen minutes of twelve she slipped out of the 
room unperceived, and flew up the stairs to her 
bleak apartment. 

Her trunk had been carried up there during the 
day. She opened it, and donned a dress of black 
cashmere ; over this she slipped her sealskin cloak, 
and upon her head placed a cap of the same mate- 


72 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


rial. Being all ready, she turned up her lamp, and, 
first locking and bolting her door, gave the signal, 
as instructed by Bowery Joe. Waiting a moment, 
she essayed to raise the sash. 

It resisted her efforts; it was nailed down. She 
gasped for breath as the truth flashed upon her 
mind. What could she do? how remove the obsta- 
cle in the path of her escape? 

A faint grating sound reached her ears; looking 
out of the window, she saw the head and shoul- 
ders of a man appearing above the top of the fence; 
it was her companion of the previous night. 

In the dim light she could see him shoving a 
board two feet in width toward the window. She 
must do something; she stood irresolute for a 
moment, thinking. 

Suddenly she gave a cry of joy, and threw open 
the lid of her trunk. She remembered that she 
had a dressing-case in that receptacle, and in that 
dressing-case a razor. 

She grasped the case, opened it, found the keen- 
edged instrument, and, going to the window, 
attacked the strips of wood that held the glass in 
place. The sharp tool cut through the soft pine 
without difficulty; In a few moments the glass was 
loose; now to remove it. She essayed to pull the 
panes out of the putty, which alone held them 
now, but her fingers were cold, and she found it a 
difficult matter to do so. Suddenly she heard the 
sound of heavy footsteps outside in the hall; she 
recognized it with a sinking feeling at her heart; 
Harry Oglethorpe — he had probably missed her 


THE ESCAPE 


73 


from the ball-room, and was coming to her room 
to ascertain the cause of her absence. 

No time for hesitation now; in a few minutes all 
would be lost. With a desperate pressure, she 
pushed the glass from the sash. 

Clatter, ding, bang', it fell into the yard. 

At the same moment she heard the sound of some 
one trying to turn the knob of her door, then a 
voice — a voice she feared, calling her name. 

“ Betty! Betty! It’s me; open the door.” 

The dogs, aroused by the clatter ot the broken 
glass, now tore around the house as it mad. Their 
savage baying filled her with terror. Suppose she 
should fall from the narrow board and be hurled to 
the ground below; she would be torn in pieces by 
the furious hounds. But it must be tried; so, step- 
ping upon a chair, she began the perilous journey 
across the plank. 

“ Hurry, for God’s sake,” whispered Joe. 

She summoned up courage; she reached the 
other side. 

With a sigh of relief she began the descent of the 
ladder, first pushing off the board at Joe’s com- 
mand. She heard it fall with a loud noise into the 
yard; at the same moment she heard a crashing, 
splitting sound, and knew that Oglethorpe had 
forced open the door of the room she had just left. 

“ Into the carriage, quick,” cried her companion. 

She clambered into the seat. He jumped in after 
her. 

The horse was lashed into a mad gallop, and away 
they went through the trees. 


7 4 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


With her eyes starting from her head with terror, 
she grasped the side of the buggy tightly. What 
a ride! jolted, thrown from side to side, sometimes 
nearly thrown from the carriage. 

“ Hark! What is that? ” she cried, suddenly. 

A mournful howl had reached her ears. 

“ Bloodhounds,” muttered Joe, sententiously. 
“ They’re after us.” 

“ And should they overtake us? ” 

“ Case of fight,” grimly. 

“ My God ! We will be torn in pieces, ” she gasped. 

“ No; I guess not. If they come too close, you 
drive. I’ve got a brace of ‘sixes.’ I can spot a 
playing-card at ten paces. I think I can knock 
the eye out of a bloodhound.” 

They rode along in silence for some time. The 
musical baying of the hounds sounded more and 
more distinctly. 

“There they are,” she cried, suddenly, seizing 
his arm in terror. 

He glanced out of the side of the buggy. 

Yes, she had spoken truly; gliding through the 
trees came the fierce brutes. 

“ Take the lines,” he muttered, slipping the lines 
into her hands. “ Drive straight ahead.” 

She obeyed him. 

He quickly slipped a shining revolver from a belt 
strapped around his waist. 

The foremost dog was quite close. Bang ! 
sounded the revolver. With a howl of almost 
human anguish, the monstrous brute leaped into the 
air and fell back dead. 


THE ESCAPE 75 

“ One less,” muttered Joe ; “ drive on ; we’ll be 
in Marinette in ten minutes.” 

The road they were now driving over was a 
smooth one, and the woman had no difficulty in 
guiding the horse. Again she heard the pistol 
ring out. Another howl. 

“ Only two left,” remarked Joe. Then, joyfully, 
“ No, there ain’t any left ; the other two have turned 
tail and returned to the woods. We’re all right, 
and there comes the train. Lash that horse a little, 
then give me the lines.” 

She transferred the reins willingly. He urged 
the horse along ; they drove up to the station just 
as the train pulled in. Without stopping to pur- 
chase tickets, they hurried upon the cars. ^ 

As they moved out of the station a small caval- 
cade of horsemen dashed up, foremost of whom 
the pair recognized as Harry Oglethorpe. Raising 
the window, the gambler shouted, “ Farewell, old 
stock. Go back and bury your anger — and your 
dogs. Hurrah for liberty! ” 

The next minute they were whirling through the 
darkness. 

Turning to the woman, who sat trembling with 
nervousness by his side, the organizer of schemes 
quietly remarked : 

“ That was a close shave, but we had the best 
hand. To-morrow we’ll be in Milwaukee, and then 
you shall hear my scheme,” 


76 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


CHAPTER X. 

THE GREAT DIAMOND ROBBERY. 

UPON a bright, sunny day in May, a fashionably 
dressed lady entered the large jewelry establish- 
ment of Peabody & Simmons, in Milwaukee. 

She had driven up to the sidewalk in a magnifi- 
cently appointed coupe, drawn by a pair of spirited 
bays, and driven by a coachman in livery. The 
obsequious clerks hurried to wait upon her. 

“ I wish to see some diamonds,” she said, in a 
haughty tone like one born to command. 

“ Mr. Andrews, please show this lady our stock 
of diamonds,” said Mr. Simmons, who was present, 
to a young man dressed in a manner almost fop- 
pish. 

“ This way, please,” he murmured, with an insin- 
uating smile. The lady was young, ana very 
beautiful, and this young man had a flattering idea 
of himself, and the effect of his smiie upon the fair 
sex. 

“ Right this way,” he repeated. The lady arose 
from the velvet-covered stooi she had taxen upon 
entering the store, and followed him. 

He took a tray of jewelry from the show-case. 
Diamonds set in rings, brooches, ear-rings, studs, 
etc.; quite an assortment. 

“ You will find these all good stock; pure white, 
without a flaw. We do not handle any inferior 
goods,” remarked the clerk. 

The lady looked them over carefully. “ Those 


THE GREAT DIAMOND ROBBERY *J*J 


ear-rings. Perhaps they would suit me; they are 
rather large, but, still, they are very pretty/’ she 
murmured. 

“ Not too large for one who can afford them,” 
said the clerk. “ These ear-rings are rather expen- 
sive; they are evenly matched stones, and weigh 
over ten carats each. ” 

“ Indeed,” with an uplifting of the delicately 
penciled eyebrows, “ and the price of them? ” 

" Five thousand dollars.” 

The lady handled the jewels lovingly — women 
love jewels — holding them so the light could reflect 
upon their finely cut facets, shaking them gently. 
“ They are beautiful,” she murmured. 

“ Here is a lace pin, of ten stones; the center 
one matches the ear-rings; the pattern of the set- 
ting is similar in design, you see,” producing the 
pin, and holding it up for her inspection. 

“ So it is. They would go nicely together; and 
the value of the pin? ” 

“ Three thousand dollars.” 

“ A small fortune in the set.” 

“ Yes. Few people can afford such expensive 
jewelry. ” 

“ I can afford it well enough. My husband, 
however, does not favor the expenditure of so much 
money in jewelry.” 

“ No? ” with a rising inflection. 

“ No; he is many years my senior. He does not 
consider that young people like adornment. He 
looks upon the stern realities of life; cannot tolerate 


78 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


its frivolities, as he terms them,” with a shade of 
petulance in her tone. 

She had laid the jewelry upon the top of the 
glass show-case while talking. 

“ Now is my time,” thought the clerk. 11 She 
wants sympathy.” 

“ It is often the cause of misunderstanding 
between man and wife, these differences of opin- 
ion,” he murmured, respectfully. 

“ Yes, my husband is good and kind to me, but 
he does not understand me,” sadly. 

“ Perhaps he does not appreciate you,” mur- 
mured the clerk, insinuatingly. 

She shot a swift glance from out her beautiful 
eyes. 

“ I have sometimes thought so,” she said. Then, 
as if recollecting herself, “ but I should not talk so 
of my private affairs before a stranger. I forgot 
myself,” and she lowered her eyes, while a blush 
mounted to her cheeks. 

“ It shall not be repeated by me,” answered the 
clerk, reassuringly, thinking how beautiful she 
was. 

“ No, I should hope not; a still tongue is a 
treasure,” without looking up. 

Somehow or other her words caused the young 
man’s pulses to beat more rapidly. Was there 
some hidden meaning in the woman’s words? He 
resolved to ascertain if possible. 

“ I never allow my right hand to know what my 
left hand does,” he said, slowly. The secrets of my 
friends are my secrets; I never divulge them.” 


THE GREAT DIAMOND ROBBERY 79 

She looked about her nervously, her eyes dan- 
cing, her face flushed. 

“ It is sweet to know that one has a true friend,” 
she murmured. “Alas! I need a friend.” Then 
recovering herself, “ What nonsense am I talking; 
I should know better,” with a light, nervous laugh. 

“ Pardon me, madam, but you interest me,” cried 
the clerk. 

“Do I?” 

“ Yes, ever so much; you need a friend.” 

“ Yes; I do,” with sudden determination; “ a 
friend who would appreciate me, a companion ” 

She hesitated. 

“ Who would love you,” he insinuated. 

“ Yes,” nervously, “ my husband is old. I ” 

“ Let me be your friend,” murmured the clerk, 
leaning over the counter. 

She looked up shyly, almost with a look of shame 
in her eloquent eyes, then answered: 

“ This has come about so suddenly. How did I 
ever come to lay bare my heart to you? ” 

She uttered the last words as if guilty of a ter- 
rible crime, a blush of shame upon her face, a look 
of supplication in her eyes; eyes that seemed to 
say: 

“ Do not think of what I have said. Forgive 
me.” 

“ It has come about curiously,” he whispered, 
“ but need it cause you alarm or shame? You need 
a true friend. You are young — pardon me — and 
beautiful. Why cannot we be friends? ” 

He has spoken eagerly, warmly. 


So 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


She looked into his eyes. 

“ It may be,” she murmured. “ I will call again 
about the jewelry.” 

“ Do so. Come again soon. Before you go, 
allow me to show you a necklace which we made 

for Madam ; she died suddenly, and it was 

left upon our hands.” 

“ I would be pleased to see it,” she said, lower- 
ing her eyes behind his gaze. 

He turned to the safe, and returned with a square 
black morocco case. Placing it upon the show- 
case, he threw back the lid. The lady uttered a 
cry of admiration. 

“ Is it not beautiful?” he asked. 

“ Magnificent! ” she gasped, in an admiring tone. 
“ This necklace must be very valuable.” 

“ It is worth one hundred thousand dollars,” 
quietly replied the clerk. She lifted the article of 
jewelry from the casket. It was truly magnificent; 
composed entirely of large diamonds, set in Etrus- 
can gold; reflecting the rays of the sun, it cast a 
thousand radiant scintillations about the store. She 
put it back sadly. 

“ If my husband was like other men, he would 
purchase this for me,” she said. “ He could well 
afford it. ” 

“ Then, your husband is a man of great wealth? ” 

“ I believe he is reputed to be worth over ten 
millions,” she replied. 

Ten millions! The clerk opened his eyes. It 
would be worth something to him if he could 


THE GREAT DIAMOND ROBBERY 8 1 

become intimately acquainted with the fair one, so 
wealthy, and yet so innocent. 

“ But I suppose it is needless to think of such a 
thing,” she said, rising reluctantly. “ He would 
not listen to it. He would rather lose that amount 
in speculation. ” 

“ May I ask your husband’s name? ” inquired 
the clerk, awed into respect again. 

“ Certainly,” she answered, graciously. “ My 
husband is Philip Bowers.” 

Philip Bowers. He knew the name well. One 
of the wealthiest men in the city. 

“ I shall tell him of this necklace,” she said, as 
she drew on her glove, preparatory to taking her 
departure. “ Perhaps I may induce him to grant 
me one favor, at any rate. Good afternoon.” 

“ Good day, madam,” he answered, bowing. 

The next moment she had left the store. 

The following day, at about the same hour, the 
stylish equipage drew up before the jewelry estab- 
lishment again. 

Mr. Andrews was waiting upon a customer; but, 
as his visitor of the preceding day swept into the 
store, he quickly got rid of her, and was smiling, 
and before the newcomer. 

Mrs. Bowers seemed to be in the best of spirits; 
a look of innocent joy filled her eyes, and she 
smiled radiantly upon the enamored clerk. 

" I am the bearer of good news,” she cried, 
when they were alone by the diamond counter. 
“ Mr. Bowers says he may purchase that lovely 
necklace for me; wouldn’t that be splendid? ” 

The Runaway Wife 6 


82 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


The clerk seemed to enjoy her girlish glee; 
never had she looked more charming than upon this 
occasion; he was absolutely carried away by the 
sight of her rare beauty. 

“ I am pleased to hear of your good fortune,” he 
murmured; “ when do you think he will make the 
purchase? ” 

“ To-day, perhaps. You see, he could not come 
with me. He is laid up with an attack of the 
gout. He seemed very good natured when I men- 
tioned the necklace, and appeared willing to pur- 
chase it, after he had seen it.” 

“ He will call, then, when he has recovered? ” 

“ Oh, that will be so long to wait. I thought, 
perhaps — ” and she hesitated. 

“ What were you going to say? ” he asked. 

“ I thought perhaps you might be willing to 
accompany me to my residence, and take the neck- 
lace with you. He could then see it and give you 
his check. ” 

The clerk hesitated; the proceeding was an 
unusual one. He said “ No.” 

A look of disappointment came to the woman’s 
eyes — such expressive eyes. 

“ Then, I suppose I must wait,” she murmured, 
like a disappointed child. 

The young man was thinking. The eyes and 
pouting lips were producing a decided effect upon 
him. What risk would there be in permitting this 
lady’s husband to inspect the diamonds? He would 
be present; have the precious jewels in his own 
hands. 


THE GREAT DIAMOND ROBBERY 


83 


“ My carriage is at the door too,” she said, as if 
offering an inducement. “ I so wanted to speak to 
you privately.” 

That settled it; he had made up his mind. 

" Wait one moment until I consult with Mr. Pea- 
body, then I will return; I think perhaps we can 
arrange it,” he said, and left her. 

The senior member of the firm looked doubtful 
when the clerk laid the matter before him; but, 
when he heard the name of the husband, his face 
brightened, all doubt vanished. 

“ Of course, grant her the permission,” he cried. 
“ You can do the jewels up in a parcel and keep 
them in your possession; there is no risk; the name 
ofPhilip Bowers can command fortunes; get ready 
and go at once.” 

The young man hurried back. 

“ It shall be as you wish,” he cried; “ I will 
accompany you as soon as I can do up the casket 
and put on my hat.” 

“ I am so glad,” she cried, clasping her hands 
like a child. “ You won’t be long, will you? ” 

“ Not over ten minutes.” 

In less than that time he was ready, and led the 
way to the carriage. 

“ Home, James,” she commanded the driver, and 
the carriage sped along. 

During the ride the lady seemed overwhelmed 
with delight. 

“ Do you know that I could almost kiss you,” 
she whispered to the clerk; “ you have been so 
kind.” 


84 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ Don’t you think you could do so if you tried?’* 
asked that young man, boldly. 

“ Perhaps,” shyly. 

Emboldened by her action, he put his arm around 
her slender waist; the next moment he was raining 
kisses upon her lips. 

“ That will do. Oh, my! ” she panted. 

How his heart beat; the woman was divine. 
Wild thoughts of future pleasures ran wild in his 
brain, rudely interrupted at last by the carriage 
stopping suddenly. 

He looked out of the window; they were stand- 
ing before a large, magnificent house of brown 
stone. 

“ Give me the casket,” she cried, her cheeks 
flushing from the effects of his ardent embraces. 
“ I will return in a few moments.” 

“ But I was not to let them go out of my sight,” 
he stammered. 

A look of hauteur came to her eyes; she drew 
her magnificent form indignantly erect. 

“ Very well, sir; return with them to your em- 
ployers, then,” she said, frigidly. “ You have 
insulted me. I regret that I have so far forgotten 
myself as to think you my equal; one who might 
become a dear friend.” 

Her words cut him to the quick. 

“ Pardon me, madam,” he cried; “ I really did 
not mean to insult you.” 

“ You have spoken as if I was a suspicious char- 
acter and could not be trusted. ” 


THE GREAT DIAMOND ROBBERY 85 

“ Take the jewels,” he cried, placing the parcel 
in her hands. “ Shall I await your return here? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered, her face lighting up again. 
“ You will excuse me for not asking you in the 
house; but everything is upside down — we are 
cleaning house — ■ and, besides, my husband is so 
nervous; the slightest sound irritates him. I make 
use of the basement to refrain from making any 
noise whatever; upon the first floor we keep the 
bell muffled.” 

“ Apologies are unnecessary,” he hastened to say. 
“ I can wait here just as well.” 

With a sunny smile, the lady left him. As she 
stepped out upon the sidewalk, she spoke a few 
words in a monotone to the driver, who descended 
from the box, and followed her into the basement. 
For thirty minutes the young clerk sat waiting in 
the carriage. Then he began to grow impatient. 
“ She is taking a long time to show the jewels to 
her husband,” he muttered. Still he waited; no 
thought of suspicion entered his mind. But he at 
last grew anxious. 

“ Why does she not return? ” he murmured. 

In a few moments a man, clad in a rough costume, 
in his shirt sleeves, looked in at the window, “ I 
guess you’ve got into the wrong carriage,” he said, 
addressing Andrews. 

“What do you mean?” cried that gentleman, 
angrily. 

“ I’ve got orders to take this team back to the 
stable,” answered the fellow. 

“ Who gave you your orders? ” 


86 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ Mr. Wilcox, my boss. The team belongs to 
him.” 

“ It is you who have made the mistake,” gruffly 
remarked Andrews. “ This is Mrs. Bowers’ private 
turn-out. ” 

“ Who’s?” 

“ Mrs. Philip Bowers’.” 

" You’re way off, young fellow. This team be- 
longs to Mr. Wilcox. He had it hired to a lady, 
for two days. He got word, about one hour ago, 
to send a man at four o’clock to a certain place and 
git it. This is the place, and I am the man.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE SUCCESS OF BOWERY JOE’S SCHEME. 

Like an inspiration from above, it flashed upon 
the young man, that he had been cleverly duped 
by the woman and robbed. And such a robbery, 
$100,000 worth of diamonds. 

But he must be sure. So he sprang from the 
carriage — that coupe where he had kissed her — 
and leaped up the steps. For fully five minutes 
he rang the bell; no answer. He could hear the 
noisy clanging of the annunciator. So the woman 
must have lied when she had said, that the bell 
was muffled, “ so that her invalid husband would 
not be disturbed.” He gave up attempting to 
arouse any one at the main entrance, and went 
down to the basement door. 

Here he was more successful. His ring was 


THE SUCCESS OF BOWERY JOE’S SCHEME 87 

answered by an old man, who looked as if he had 
just awakened from a sound sleep. 

As the door opened, the clerk heard the sound 
of carriage wheels, as the man from Wilcox’s stable 
drove away the team . But he gave this no thought, 
but turned to the old man. 

“ Is Mrs. Bowers at.home? ” he demanded. 

“ No, sir. She and Mr. Bowers left for White 
Sulphur Springs day before yesterday.” 

“ Are you sure of this? ” cried the young man, 
aghast. 

“ Why, of course, I am. They go there every 
year about this time.” 

“ Is Mrs. Bowers a young lady, or an old 
one?” 

“ Neither one nor t’other. She’s about thirty- 
five.” 

His fair visitor could not have been over thirty, 
at the very most. She could not have been the 
wife of the millionaire. He groaned audibly as 
this flashed through his mind. He had been 
robbed by a clever woman. 

The man prepared to close the door. 

“ One moment, sir,” appealed the stricken young 
man. “ Who was the lady who entered this house 
about an hour ago, well dressed, and accompanied 
by a man in coachman’s livery.” 

The man looked puzzled. 

“ Well, sir, to tell the truth, I didn’t know as 
anybody had come in; but, wait a minute, I’ll call 
my wife; mebbe she can tell you; I have been tak- 
ing my afternoon nap.” 


88 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


The wife was called — a motherly-looking lady. 

“ Oh, yes; ” she said, “ I admitted a lady and 
her coachman about that time. You know, sir, 
Mr. Bowers has a fine, big St. Bernard dog, and 
she has some puppies. He told us to advertise 
the little fellows for sale. A lady called to see 
about getting one yesterday. She said she might 
come back to-day and get it; she came and brought 
her coachman with her; they are back in the stable 
now. Why! I declare if her carriage ain’t gone! 
Who could have drove it off? ” 

The duped clerk now began to see through it all. 
With an oath, which startled the motherly old 
lady, he started into the basement, brushing the 
worthy couple aside. 

“ Here, sir. Where are you going? ” called the 
man. 

“ To the stables. Come with me; I’ll explain 
everything.” 

Amazed, they followed him on out to the stable. 

“ Don’t go in. The dog may bite you,” cried 
the old man. 

Andrews halted. 

“ And yet you allowed these people to go into 
the stable? ” he said, suspiciously. 

“ No, indeed; ” replied the old lady, reaching 
his side, “ I only opened the door of the carriage 
house for them. The puppies are kept there for 
people to look at; we took them from their mother 
over a week ago.” 

Will you show me into the carriage house? ” 


THE SUCCESS OF BOWERY JOE’S SCHEME 89 

“ Certainly. But it seems to me you are acting 
very funny for a stranger.” 

He made no reply. The woman threw open the 
door. He rushed in. No one there. Upon a 
pile of straw he saw five young puppies. They 
looked at him with blear-eyed wonder. Suddenly 
he uttered a cry. He had espied a pile of clothing 
in the corner. He sprang toward it, and held up 
to the astonished gaze of the old couple a mag- 
nificent dress of silk, a dainty little bonnet, and a 
coachman’s coat and hat. 

“They have escaped!” he cried, staggering 
against the wall of the building. 

Recovering himself, he explained matters to the 
two servants, who stood, with open mouths, before 
him. They could hardly credit it. 

“ I will take these articles with me,” he said, 
mechanically; “ they may afford me some clue.” 

The old lady tied the cast-off clothing up in a 
bundle, and, with a heavy heart, the young man 
returned to the store. 

Blank consternation filled the minds of the two 
partners when they heard the story. They did 
not blame the young man, only for allowing the 
woman to enter the house alone. 

“You should have gone with her,” said Mr. 
Peabody, sternly. 

“ But I did not for a moment suspicion anything 
wrong; she went directly to Mr. Bowers’ house; 
entered the door as if she owned it; it all looked 
straight enough. ” 


90 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ True, I should have probably done the same 
thing myself,” sighed Mr. Peabody. 

A detective was sent for; he looked grave when 
he heard the facts. 

“ You have been robbed by a very clever thief,” 
he said; “ one who has arranged everything. You 
must admit her cleverness, when you stop to con- 
sider that she took advantage of the fact of the 
Bowers family being out of town, before calling at 
the house to see about the dogs. If Mrs. Bowers 
had been in town, the game might have been 
blocked; she might have turned up in some way. 
The driver was an accomplice; they probably had, 
in some way, smuggled a change of clothing into 
the carriage house, and then, when they were left 
alone, they slipped off the others, and put on 
these. I do not know of any desperate characters 
being in the city lately; and yet this looks like the 
work of old hands; but I’ll take the case. They 
have probably left town; I may gain some infor- 
mation at the depots; It’s like hunting for a needle 
in a haystack.” 

The detective left the store; at ten o’clock that 
night he returned, just as they were preparing to 
close up. 

“ I’ve been to the depots,” he said, “ but learned 
nothing; I hardly thought I would. Clever crooks 
like them take precious good care to cover up their 
tracks. But I’ll keep my eyes open. They’ve got 
the diamonds, and will want to get rid of ’em. I’ll 
run over to Chicago, and put some of the boys there 


THE SUCCESS OF BOWERY JOE’S SCHEME 9 1 

onto the facts. We may be able to nab them, 
through the jewels.” 

In one of the private parlors in Chicago’s big 
hotel a man and woman sat at a recherche little 
supper that night. 

The man, a well-dressed individual, with the ends 
of his mustache waxed out, poured out a glass of 
wine for his companion, a woman of rare beauty. 

" Well, how do you like the business so far? ” 
he cried. 

“ It is glorious,” she answered, her eyes spark- 
ling. 

“ Not much risk, eh? ” 

“ Not any. I did not think it would be so easy. ” 

" It would not have been if I had worked it. A 
woman alone can carry out these clever jobs. 
Your bearing, your face, those eyes, all help you.” 

“ Thanks,” laughingly. 

“ Not at all,” he replied. Then, continuing: “ It 
ain’t what is done; it’s the way in which it is done. 
It is easy enough to get hold of a man’s pocket- 
book or his property if you go the right way about 
it. You can do more with a man by working on 
his vanity, than anything else. Then a bold stroke, 
and the job is done. You see, if you make a state- 
ment of any kind, the mere fact of you making it 
carries conviction with it. People who are igno- 
rant of the truth, of course, must believe what is 
told them by others, for the reason that they can’t 
contradict it, and do not think it necessary to hunt 
up proof. ” 


92 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ You are quite a philosopher, Joe,” the woman 
cried, in a light, jesting tone. 

“ No: hardly that; only a student of human 
nature, an investigator into the mysteries of matter 
of fact, every-day occurrences.” 

“ You are clever, Joe.” 

“ I rise to thank you. It is not necessary to say 
that I have an able associate in you.” 

“ I am willing to learn.” 

“ And I am only too willing to teach you. But 
now to business. I have already disposed of three 
of the stones, and got nearly their full value 
— worked the shabby genteel gag — gentleman 
forced to sell his stud. I knocked them all out of 
the setting in the car.” 

“ So that was what you were doing so long away 
from me? ” 

“ Yes. I retired into privacy for twenty minutes. 
A pair of tweezers and a stiff-bladed knife — that 
did the work ; and the setting, the only thing by 
which we might have been traced, is now in Lake 
Michigan. I threw it from the platform of the car 
as we ran near the lake. Unset diamonds cannot 
be traced, except they are flawed, or have some 
peculiar mark upon them. These are all perfect, 
and will bring us in at least fifty thousand.” 

The woman’s eyes glistened. “ A fortune,” she 
cried. 

“Yes; a small one. But we must not try to 
work them off here. I know where I can get rid 

of a few more small ones here without trouble, then 


DETECTED 


93 


we will start for New York, stopping off along the 
road to drop a diamond here and there.” 

“ That is a good idea.” 

" So so. In New York we can get rid of the big 
ones, and then for a life of pleasure. Eh, my 
sweet? ” 

She pressed a kiss upon his lips. “ We will try 
to take life easy, Joe,” she said. 

“ That we will ; and, perhaps, just to keep our 
hand in, we may work up some other scheme.” 

“ Perhaps.” 

They left Chicago the next day. 

The big diamond thieves were never caught. 


CHAPTER XII. 

DETECTED. 

One bright day in December of the same year, 
there was unusual excitement in the dry goods store 
of Putney, Knight & Hamlin, 105 Lake street. 

A stylishly dressed lady had bought a cloak, and, 
while it was being altered in the work-room up-stairs, 
she tendered a $100 bill in payment. The price of 
the garment was $50; the alterations were to cost 
$1 more, which left $49 due the purchaser. 

The clerk who waited upon the lady was about 
to tender the requisite change, when one of the pro- 
prietors made the discovery that the note was coun- 
terfeit. He looked sharply at the customer, but 
could not bring himself to think that such an ele- 
gantly dressed and stylish lady was in the business 
of passing counterfeit money. 


94 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


He was at his wits’ end as to the proper course 
to pursue. If he told her the bill was bad, and she 
was the person she seemed, there would be a scene, 
which might injure their business; while, on the 
other hand, were she a professional disposer of 
“ queer ” money, she would undoubtedly assume 
an air of virtuous indignation, bounce out of the 
store, and escape. 

In his dilemma he bethought himself of Officer 
O’Donnell, who was noted for his finesse and astute- 
ness in affairs of this kind, and decided to lay the 
case before him. 

Simon strolled leisurely into the store, after hear- 
ing the story, and began to inspect some neckwear 
in a casual way, keeping a sharp eye on the woman 
all the time. 

The officer was as much impressed with her dig- 
nified, ladylike bearing as the timorous dry goods 
dealer. The woman evidently knew she was the 
object of suspicion, as she watched O’Donnell with 
curious, questioning eyes, but gave no sign of 
uneasiness as she surprised his furtive glances. 

“ She looks like a lady,” said Simon to Mr. Put- 
ney, the partner who had placed the facts before 
him, “ and, even if she is one, no harm can be done 
by asking her a few questions.” 

Mr. Putney was afraid of giving offense, but 
O’Donnell’s assurance that it was the only plan to 
pursue dissipated his fear, and he assented. 

“ Madam,” said the officer, politely, as he 
approached the lady, hat in hand, “ you gave a 
$100 bill in payment for a cloak.” 


DETECTED 9$ 

“ Yes, sir,” said the lady, promptly, in a voice 
charmingly low and sweet. 

“The bill is a counterfeit,” continued O’Don- 
nell, keeping his eyes on her face. 

“ A counterfeit! ” exclaimed the woman, in sur- 
prise, while the blood mounted into her cheeks, and 
she sank into a chair, with a little cry of alarm, 
which did more than anything else to impress the 
officer with the belief that she was a perfect lady, 
and not the confederate of criminals. 

“ Yes, madam,” he said, kindly, “ if you can tell 
me where you obtained the bill, I may be able to 
rectify the mistake.” 

“ Oh! thank you, sir,” rejoined the lady, sweetly, 
her features lighting up with gratitude/* I received 
the money in a letter from my mother this morn- 
ing. See, here is the letter.” 

She produced a sheet of note paper from her 
pocketbook, and handed it to the officer, who read 
as follows: 

Lawrence, Kan., December 15, 1867. 

My Dearest Lizzie — I am so glad you are enjoying yourself 
in Chicago, and wish I was with you to share in the pleasure of your 
visit. But, of course, that is impossible at present. Your dear 
father’s estate will be settled up shortly, and we will then take a 
long trip in the East. The lawyers say it will realize only $75,000, 
which is a great disappointment, when we were led to believe poor 
papa was so very wealthy. But we will have enough to keep us very 
comfortably, my darling, and we can settle in some nice little New 
England town, where there are more comforts and better style than 
in this miserable, disagreeable Kansas. I inclose $100 this morning, 
which will enable you to do a little shopping. Write when you want 
more, but don’t be too extravagant for a few days, as I don’t want 
to bother the lawyers until they are ready to settle in full. Write 
soon, darling. Your own loving mother. 


Harriet Smythe. 


9 6 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


"Well,” said Simon, to himself, “that looks 
straight enough, but a $100 counterfeit is a serious 
thing, and the Kansas end of this matter seems as 
if it needed investigation.” 

The lady, who watched O’Donnell’s face ear- 
nestly, while he read the letter, was quite at ease 
when he returned it, with an apparent air of satis- 
faction. 

" Some one must have imposed upon my dear 
mother,” she said, in her soft, gentle tones. 

“ Evidently so, madam,” said the officer, and 
then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he asked; 

“ Are you well acquainted in Lawrence, 
madam? ” 

This question took the woman by surprise. She 
hesitated before replying: 

u Yes — that is, I was well acquainted, but I have 
been away for several years.” 

The quick eye of the officer noted this hesitancy, 
and he began to change his mind about the respect- 
ability of the woman. 

“ I must ask you to step over to the station, 
madam,” he said, in firm but polite tones. 

Mr. Putney and the clerks who had listened to 
this colloquy, were taken aback by the officer’s 
temerity. Was O’Donnell going to arrest this high- 
toned customer, who had given such a plausible 
explanation of her possession of the counterfeit 
bill? Why, such a step seemed monstrous. 

As for the woman, she drew herself up in a dig- 
nified manner, and demanded why she should 
accompany the officer to headquarters. 


DETECTED 


97 


“ Simply to tell your story to the chief, madam,” 
replied O’Donnell, blandly. 

“ But, sir, consider the disgrace; consider my 
reputation,” she pleaded, in a different tone, in 
which the officer detected symptoms of fear, which 
added strength to the suspicion now firmly lodged 
in his mind. “ Take the bill, sir, and keep it. I 
cannot go to the station.” 

“ Excuse me, madam, but you must,” insisted 
Simon. “ This is a matter for the chief to investi- 
gate.” 

She hung back, protesting that her character 
would be ruined, and, with tears in her eyes, en- 
treated the officer to spare her this disgrace. 

“ There will be no disgrace,” remarked the officer, 
somewhat cynically; “ you can, no doubt, satisfy 
Mr. Rehm as to the manner in which you obtained 
the bill. It’s but a step to headquarters — come.” 

The woman shuddered as the officer touched her 
arm. She had no alternative. Simon was reso- 
lute, and, putting the best face she could on the 
matter, she accompanied him out of the store. 

When in the street O’Donnell soon became con- 
vinced that she was not the innocent creature she 
pretended. She kept looking around nervously 
and anxiously, and made several propositions for 
the officer to spare her this indignity of going to 
the station. 

To these entreaties Simon was deaf as a post. 

He was confident, from her actions, that the 
woman had an accomplice, and he was not surprised 
The Runaway Wife 7. 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


98 

when, near the corner of Randolph street, a dap- 
per little gentleman, wearing a stylish overcoat, and 
a glossy silk hat, stepped up to the lady, and ex- 
claimed, effusively: 

“ Why, Lizzie, how do you do? This is indeed 
a pleasure to meet you so unexpectedly. How 
are the people in Kansas? ” 

The woman seemed overjoyed to see the gentle- 
man, said her mother was quite well, and that she 
hoped to see her in Chicago soon. 

“ But how is this?” said the spruce little man, 
glancing suspiciously at Simon, who stood close to 
his charge, listening to every word and watching 
every movement. “ What are you doing with this 
policeman? ” 

The woman hurriedly explained the situation, 
and her male friend, with a look of fiery indig- 
nation, said: 

“ Officer, you are making a grave mistake. 
This is a respectable and wealthy lady, sir. Take 
care or you will get into trouble.” 

M I’ll take the chances,” said O’Donnell, coolly, 
as he seized the indignant little man by the arm. 
“ I guess you’d better come along too.” 

“ What do you mean, sir? ” cried the little fel- 
low, excitedly, trying in vain to wrest himself out 
of the officer’s powerful grasp. “ How dare you 
lay hands on a gentleman? My brother is an influ- 
ential official of the city, sir, and you’ll lose your 
star for this infamous outrage.” 

“ Never mind my star,” said O’Donnell, quietly. 
“ You are a friend of this estimable lady, and it 


COUNTERFEITERS 99 

will be just as well for you to be present at her 
interview with the chief.” 

The little man fretted and fumed, and swore all 
manner of vengeance against Simon, who resolutely 
piloted the pair to headquarters, and ushered them 
into the office of the chief of police. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

COUNTERFEITERS. 

WHEN the prisoners, for such they virtually were 
now, entered the chiefs room, Jake Rehm, who 
was the executive officer of the police depart- 
ment, was absent. Captain John Nelson was in 
charge of the office, and he looked in astonishment 
at the stylish lady and dapper gentleman marshaled 
in front of his desk. 

“ What’s the matter, Simon ? ” asked Mr. Nelson. 

“ A matter of passing counterfeit money, sir,” 
replied O’Donnell; and he stated in brief the cir- 
cumstances which led to the arrests. 

The officer had barely finished his narration, when 
the male prisoner struck an attitude in front of the 
deputy, and cried, pompously: 

“ This policeman has a great deal of assurance, sir, 
in bringingrespectable people here on a trumped-up 
charge. I know this lady; she is highly respectable 
and rich. I demand that she be set free, and this 
impudent officer suspended from duty until his 
infamous conduct is investigated.” 

“ And who may you be ? ” gruffly asked Nelson, 


100 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


" You ought to know me, sir,” said the man, 
excitedly. “ We stand in front of the same altar.” 

This allusion to his Masonic connections nettled 
the deputy chief, who thundered out: 

“ I know no one, sir, when I am in the discharge 
of my duty; and I want you to understand also that 
Mr. O’Donnell is one of our honest policemen, who 
does his duty under any and all circumstances. Take 
this man into the front room, O’Donnell, and search 
him; and you, madam,” turning to the woman, who 
was now trembling with agitation, “ be kind enough 
to step down-stairs with me. ” 

This turn of affairs staggered the man of influence, 
who reluctantly preceded Simon into the room des- 
ignated. The woman’s aristocratic bearing van- 
ished under the cold, unsympathetic gaze of Deputy 
Nelson, and she was an ordinary, sorry creature 
indeed, as she was led, moaning and weeping, to 
the miserable quarters down-stairs. 

“What do you mean to do?” asked the male 
prisoner when O’Donnell and he were alone in the 
front room. 

“ Search you,” was the curt reply. 

“ Very good,” said the man — as he removed his 
overcoat, folded it up carefully, and placed it on 
a lounge; “ I am ready, but bear in mind you will 
suffer for this. ” 

" I guess I’ll try the overcoat first,” O’Donnell 
remarked. 

The prisoner sprang forward to snatch the gar- 
ment away from the officer, but Simon hurled him 
back, and warned him of the consequences of any 


COUNTERFEITERS 


IOI 


further interference of that kind. In a wallet taken 
from the inside breast pocket of the coat, O’Donnell 
found twenty-five counterfeit $100 bills, the exact 
counterpart, with the exception of the numbering, 
of the one the woman had attempted to pass. 

This discovery took every vestige of pride and 
pomposity out of the man’s face. Instead of a 
wronged individual threatening revenge for the 
outrageous insult of his arrest, the fellow was 
transformed in a moment to a pitiable supplicant 
for mercy. 

“ For God’s sake, O’Donnell,” he cried, in tones 
of intense anguish, “ keep this quiet. Don’t ex- 
pose me. Alderman is my brother, and I 

have a good office under the county. This will 
ruin me. Spare me, O’Donnell, for God’s sake! 
Here, take this, and destroy that stuff. ” 

He produced a roll of good money, which on 
subsequent inspection was found to contain $800, 
and offered it to the officer. The man was thunder- 
struck when Simon rejected the proffered bribe, 
saying: 

“ I must do my duty, sir. I would be worse than 
a thief if I accepted money for such a vile pur- 
pose.” 

Bitterly bemoaning his fate, the prisoner was 
taken to a cell, and the charge of counterfeiting 
booked against him. He had told the truth as to 
his name and position. The man was Andy 
Moore, brother of a well-known alderman of 
Chicago. 

“What luck, Simon?” asked Deputy Nelson, 


102 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


when the officer returned from locking up his 
prisoner. 

“ It was a good haul,” replied O’Donnell, elated 
over making such an important capture. “ I’ve 
got enough money to buy a farm.” 

He placed the big roll of counterfeit money on 
the chief’s desk, told the incident of the attempted 
bribery, and then produced the bulky wad of good 
money. 

" Why, this is a wonderful piece of work, 
O’Donnell,” exclaimed Deputy Nelson. “ I’ve not 
had the same amount of success with the woman, 
but we’ve got sufficient evidence to settle her. 
She threw away a package as we went down-stairs, 
and there was nothing but a few dollars in change 
on her person. The package contained $50 in 
small counterfeit bills. These arrests will make a 
commotion. The politicians will be here in droves 
to-morrow to help that pompous little chap out of 
trouble. This will probably turn out a case for 
Uncle Sam, however, and in that event local in- 
fluence will go for nothing.” 

What name did the woman give?” inquired 
O’Donnell. 

“ Elizabeth Drumley!” 

“ What?” cried Simon, in amazement. 

“ Elizabeth Drumley.” 

“ Good heavens,” exclaimed Simon, turning pale 
with excitement, “ why, that’s the name of the 
Yorkshireman’s runaway wife.” 

M So it is,” said Nelson, who was acquainted 


COUNTERFEITERS 103 

with the story. “ I wonder if she’s the woman 
Drumley is looking for? ” 

“ She has no accent/’ said O’Donnell musingly; 
“ and yet once or twice I thought she was an Eng- 
lishwoman. She is refined and pale-featured, and 
the woman Drumley described was robust and 
rosy-cheeked. Still, she could scarcely hit upon a 
name like that by accident. The letter from Law- 
rence was signed Smythe.” 

“ I thought of that,” Nelson rejoined; “ and, on 
mentioning it, she said that was her mother’s name. 
‘ You are married, then? ’ I suggested. ‘ I was,’ 
she said. 1 Husband dead? ’ I asked. She shook 
her head. ‘Divorced?’ ‘I’ve nothing more to 
say/ she replied, and I left her in the cell, moaning 
and groaning, as if hope was completely crushed 
in her heart. As to the absence of accent, Simon, 
you must remember that, if she is the woman 
Drumley wants, she has been over five years in 
this country, and a smart, sensible woman can 
learn to twist her tongue in any shape in less than 
half that time.” 

“ That’s true,” asserted O’Donnell, who did not 
want to believe that his friend’s wife was the mis- 
erable creature in the cell below; “ but, if she should 
turn out to be Joe’s wife, it will crush all the love 
and romance out of his life to find her a prisoner 
on a grave criminal charge. ” 

“Well, the surest way to decide the point,” 
remarked the deputy chief, “ is to bring Drumley 
and her face to face.” 


104 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ True enough,’- said Simon, mournfully, as he 
left the office to resume his post at the crossing. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE HUSBAND TOLD. 

WHEN O’Donnell reached Clark and Lake streets 
he found the Yorkshireman, whom he had not seen 
that day, knocking his heels together disconso- 
lately, on the northeast corner. There was a 
peculiar look on the man’s face — a sort of woe- 
begone expression, which augured an attack of 
low spirits on the receipt of bad news. 

“ Eh! Simon, lad,” Drumley exclaimed, bright- 
ening up when he saw his blue-coated friend, 
“ aw’m doon reet glad to see tha. Aw thowt sum- 
mat was wrang. Where hes ta bin? ” 

O’Donnell explained that duty had called him 
from his beat, and asked, not without some mis- 
givings as to the outcome of his query: 

“ You don’t look well, Joe; what’s troubling 
you? ” 

“ Oh, it’s t’ owd story, Simon,” was the answer, 
in a tone of deeper melancholy than he had ever 
used before. " This suspense is beginnin’ to tell 
on me. Aw’ve got a kaind of presentiment that 
summat’s goin’ to happen. Betty doan’t turn up, 
and I fear me she’s deed and aw’ll hev to go whoam 
wi’ cowd comfort for t’ bairns.” 

O’Donnell’s mind reverted to the woman in the 
cheerless cell at the station, and wondered if some 


THE HUSBAND TOLD 


105 


subtle, mysterious influence — some undulating 
wave of sympathy, such as those new-fangled phi- 
losophers said communicated the pains and sorrows 
of loved ones to absent friends — was not affecting 
the man’s feelings. 

“ See here, Joe,” he said, kindly, “ suppose you 
were to find Betty in deep distress; suppose she 
were in bitter straits, and everything showed her 
to be a bad, wicked creature, worse in every respect 
than you have hitherto imagined; suppose she 
were accused of some terrible crime and was in 
danger of being sentenced to the penitentiary, 
would you still extend to her the hand of forgive- 
ness and take her back to your home and your 
children? ” 

“ For God’s sake, Simon,” exclaimed the man, 
excitedly, the color coming and going on his face, 
as he tried to suppress the emotions this speech 
aroused; “ tha’ means summat, lad. Oot wi’ it. 
Hes ta fawnd her? Speak, mon; doesn’t ta see 
aw’m shaakin’ like dotherin’ grass? ” 

O’Donnell put his hand on the man’s arm, to find 
him trembling like one stricken with the ague. 

“ Brace up, Joe,” he said, tenderly. “ I don’t 
know whether I’ve found her, but there’s a woman 
at the station who says her name is Elizabeth 
Drumley. ” 

“ My God! ” cried Drumley, becoming white as 
a sheet, and staggering as though he would fall. 
“ Betty fawnd! Tak’meti’ her! Tak’ me ti’ her! ” 

People stopped and stared at the agitated York- 
shireman talking to the policeman. The street 


106 THE RUNAWAY WIFE 

arabs gathered around, not now attracted by the 
curious hat, but awe-stricken with the strong man’s 
haggard face and piteous, pleading accents. 

Drumley heeded not the sensation he was caus- 
ing in the open street. His thoughts were with 
Betty in her lonely cell; his heart was wrestling 
with the burden of a new and cankerous grief. 
His wife in the police station and under arrest! 
Perhaps the schoolmaster abused her, and she had 
killed him. 

This thought maddened him, and he asked 
hoarsely: 

“ Is ’t skulemaister fawnd? ” 

" No,” said O’Donnell. 

“ Ah! ” groaned the man, “ he’s left for me. 
Tak’ me ti’ her! Aw mun see her or aw’ll goo 
mad! ” 

And Simon led him away from the curious throng 
to police headquarters, sorely perplexed as to the 
outcome of Drumley’s search for his wife. 

CHAPTER XV. 

FOUND. 

Deputy Nelson was right when he said the 
female prisoner was completely crushed. She shud- 
dered as the grated door closed harshly behind her 
and she was left alone with her misery. She seated 
herself on the narrow cot, and wept piteously. No 
trace of the proud, dignified lady could be seen in 
this wretched, trembling creature, whose sparkling 


FOUND 107 

jewels and rich attire seemed but to emphasize the 
magnitude and intensity of her woe. 

She was evidently not inured to criminal life; 
her conduct since detection was strong evidence 
that this was her first experience of the stern, 
relentless hand of the law. True, the hardened 
criminal often simulates grief to play upon the 
sympathies of the officers; but there was no 
feigned sorrow, no mock misery, in this woman’s 
woebegone face. It was real, heartfelt despair 
which caused her to rock to and fro on the cot, 
moaning as though the strings of hope had snapped, 
and left her shivering and helpless on the brink of 
perdition. 

Life was, indeed, gloomy for this miserable 
woman. Through the veil of her tears she saw 
the form of a deeply wronged husband, and the 
somber cell seemed echoing with the heart-rending 
sobs of forsaken children. Why had she listened 
to the seductive voice of the tempter, and left the 
peace and homely joy of that cheerful fireside for 
the glitter and tinsel of the false world beyond? 

Ah! never again would those sweet little hands 
tangle in her hair, or those dear cherub lips seek 
hers in tender caress, or those loving eyes, clear, 
and bright, and pure as a summer’s sky, turn with 
serene and holy confidence to her face. Never 
again would she hear that full, manly voice cheering 
her in the cares of motherhood, and lightening toil 
and dissipating fancied sorrows with the healthful 
music of a happy heart. 

Those days, those joys, were dead and gone — 


108 THE RUNAWAY WIFE 

buried by the hands of unhallowed love, and 
trampled on by the brutal feet of sin and crime. 

As she sat shrinking and shivering before the 
ghost of by-gone happiness, the cell door opened 
with a clang, a dark shadow fell on the floor, and a 
deep, sonorous, once-loved voice, quivering with 
excitement, said: 

“ Betty, is that thou, lass? ” 

The woman sprang to her feet with an unearthly 
shriek, gazed a moment wildly into the visitor’s face, 
and then sank limp and powerless at his feet, 
gasping: 

“ Joe! ” 

This paroxysm was brief. Before Drumley had 
time to stoop and raise her, the woman was on her 
feet again, and, covering her face with her hands, 
retired to the rear of her cell, crying, hysterically: 

“ Go away! Leave me! I am vile, unutterably 
vile. Leave me! ” 

“ Nay, nay, lass!" said the man, moved almost 
to tears by the sight of her misery. “ Aw’l do 
nowt o’ t’ kaind. Leave tha! Does ta’ think aw’ve 
coom fower thoosand mailes to fawnd tha, and that 
aw’ll leave tha noo ’cos th’art in trubble? Aw’d be 
a domned, coowardly skoondrel, an’ ma naame 
wuddn’t be Joe Drumley if aw did a trick laike that. 
Noo stop thee greetin’, and let’s see what we 
can de. ’’ 

It was no use telling the woman to stop crying. 
The tears rained down her cheeks as she listened to 
Joe’s manly speech. His steadfastness under all 
the wrongs and misery she had inflicted upon him 


FOUND 


109 


cut her to the quick; his kindness in this grievous 
hour of trial burned like coals of fire. 

“ But remember, Joe,” she managed to say, 
through her sobs, “ remember ” 

“ Aw remember nowt,” he interrupted, impa- 
tiently; " nowt but that tha’ art ma waife, and t’ 
mither o’ my bairns, an aw’m dommed if aw want 
ta remember owt else. ” 

Her heart almost stopped when he mentioned 
the “ bairns.” She looked at him with hungering, 
glistening eyes, and tried to force a question to 
her lips. 

“ The chil ” she gasped, and fell back sob- 

bing wildly again. 

The man divined her thought. 

“ They’re a’ reet, ” he said, cheerfully. " Tommy’s 
a-goin’ to skule, and will be a scholar laike tha; 
Polly’s growin’ wonderfully, and she’s always askin’ 
when mamma will be whoam, an’ little Ned, why, 
he’s six noo, an’ a reet smart ’un he is. He can 
wollop ony kid in Todmorden twice his size. See, 
aw’ve got their picter.” 

The honest, sturdy-hearted fellow drew a photo- 
graph from his pocket. Forgetting everything but 
a wild, ungovernable longing to look on the faces 
of her children, the woman sprang forward and 
almost tore the picture from his hands. She kissed 
and gazed at it passionately, and, putting it in the 
bosom of her dress, said, plaintively: 

“ I’ll keep this, Joe.” 

“ Why, o’coorse,” Drumley responded, kindly 
pleased that his wife was recovering from the wild 


IIO 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


fit of grief. “ Aw browt it a purpose for tha. Eh! 
but they’ll be reet glad to see tha back.” 

“ Back! ” she exclaimed, doubtfully. 

“ Ay, back, lass. Noo that we've fawned thee, 
tha’s got to coom whoam to the childer and me.” 

The infinite tenderness breathed in these words 
stirred the woman to the depths of her soul. 
She forgot the misery of her surroundings; for the 
moment her misdeeds were swept aside by the 
boundless love and charity of this big-hearted man. 
All the womanliness of her nature came back with 
a mighty rush, and she threw herself into Drumley’s 
arms, and buried her face, still wet and shimmering 
with tears, on his throbbing breast. 

And when, half an hour later, Drumley left to 
busy himself in her defense, confident that in some 
way her release would be effected, there was deep 
contrition in her voice and a cheerful spark of hope 
in her eyes, as she said, with a loving touch of her 
husband’s accent: 

“ Yes, Joe, I’ll go whoam to th’ childer and thee.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

PURE GOLD. 

DRUMLEY was radiantly cheerful when he re- 
joined Officer O’Donnell in the room up-stairs. He 
did not wait for any questions, but blurted out 
the information that Simon and several others were 
anxiously awaiting. 

“ It’s aril reet, lads,” he cried, in his round, full 


PURE GOLD 


III 


voice; “ that's ma lass, ma Betty, and aw’m goin’ ta 
tak’ her back wi’ me. ” 

He seemed to forget she was a prisoner on a 
serious charge, and that it was next to impossible 
to secure her release without a trial. 

“ How did she get mixed up in this business?” 
asked O’Donnell. 

“ Drat it! ” exclaimed Drumley, scratching his 
head in a bewildered fashion; “ aw nivver asked 
her that. Aw wos too pleased to see her to bother 
her wi’ troublesome questions. But it’ll be aril 
reet; aw’m not beawt brass, and if a hun’red punds 
or so will do owt in this place, and aw’ve heerd as 
how money counts, why, aw’ll put it up in a jiffy 
so that Betty may go whoam wi’ me.” 

“ And what about the schoolmaster? ” queried 
one of the policemen. 

“ Oh! dom t’ skulemaister,” he cried, excitedly: 
“ we’d summat else ta tawk abeaut beside 
’um. Skulemaister may go to th’ divil in his own 
way unless he crosses ma path, and then aw’ll gi’ 
’um a crack that happen’ll break his skull.” 

A few more questions showed that the York- 
shireman had been tender as a woman with his 
erring wife — that he had neither upbraided her nor 
evinced the slightest curiosity as to her recent 
mode of life, but treated her with a degree of 
charity and magnanimity that bordered on the 
sublime. 

As he left the station to engage a lawyer to ex- 
tricate his wife from her perilous position, Drumley 


1 12 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


was a hero in the eyes of the Central police detail. 
O’Donnell was particularly proud of his protege. 

u Talkabout your ancient chivalry he exclaimed , 
in a burst of enthusiasm; “ there’s a man that beats 
the knights of old hollow, with all their white and 
red crosses, their buckled armor, crested shields 
and gages of honor. That fellow’s pure gold, every 
inch a man, and don’t you forget it.” 

With hasty footsteps, and a heart overflowing 
with thankfulness to the Ruler of All, honest Joe 
Drumley hurried all along the street. 

“ Aw ave fawnd her,” he cried; “ Ma Bet; 
naw maiter wa she be, she bees ma waife, an God 
ha’ sent ’er back ta oi.” He had started to find a 
lawyer; he had not gone far before he remembered 
that he had not inquired of O’Donnell where a 
lawyer could be found. 

Suddenly he stopped; he plunged his hand into 
the capacious depths of his pocket7"and produced 
a card, dirty and broken. “ Awe niver thawt 
that,” he cried, joyfully. “ Mayhap ’e can ’elp 
oi; aw’ll go see him; aw recken as ow he’ll knaw 
me.” The card was the one given him by the man 
he had saved from the footpads nearly a year 
before. 

He found the elderly lawyer in his office; the 
gentleman recognized him at once. 

“ You have come to see me at last; ” he cried, 
clasping the hand of the honest Yorkshireman. 

“That aw ’ave, maister lawyer,” answered Joe. 
“ You can ’elp me naow; hoppen yo’ will.” 

“ Gladly, if I can,” replied the good man. 


PURE GOLD 


113 

Briefly Joe laid the case before him. The law- 
yer looked dubious. 

“ It’s a serious charge,” he said; “ but I’ll do 
what I can; depend upon me, my man, I’ll be on 
hand, and, if there is the slightest loophole of 
escape, your wife shall have the benefit of it. A 
sad, strange story,” he added; “ and you came all 
the way from England to find her.” 

“ Aw’d a traiveled ta worl ta found ’er; she be 
ma waife; te mither o’ me bairns.” 

A tear stood in the lawyer’s eye. “ I’ll try to 
save her to you,” he said — and he did. 

Next morning, Mrs. Drumley and Moore were 
arraigned before Justice Milliken, and held to the 
Criminal Court in heavy bonds. Drumley bailed 
out his wife, and took her to his boarding-house. 
The friends of the alderman’s brother rescued her 
confederate from incarceration in the county jail. 

Mrs. Drumley seemed pleased to be reconciled 
to her worthy husband, but an occasional shadow 
crossed her face which gave O’Donnell no little 
uneasiness. Quiet inquiries developed the fact that 
the schoolmaster deserted her twelve months before 
this criminal episode; that her career since then 
had been shockingly profligate, and that she had 
just formed an alliance with a band of counter- 
feiters, who were putting into operation a stupen- 
dous scheme to flood the whole country with 
spurious money. 

No unlawful intimacy between her and her dap- 
per copartner in crime could be traced. Their 
The Runaway Wife 8 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


1 14 

acquaintance was of but recent growth, and had 
not ripened into familiarity. 

Simon saw little of Drumley during the next 
week or two; the man was busy with the lawyers 
who were to defend his wife, who assured him that 
she could escape scot free by turning state’s evi- 
dence against the gang. 

He had scruples about her adopting this course. 

“ Aw cannot abide treachery in any shape,” he 
said to O’Donnell, one day; “ but, ov coorse, aw’ve 
got to saave her. ” 

The officer said nothing in reply, but he remem- 
bered, with a dull sense of impending sorrow, those 
ominous shadows which flashed across the woman’s 
brow in the police court. 

In due time the grand jury returned true bills 
against Mrs. Drumley and Andy Moore, and again 
heavy bonds were given to keep them out of the 
County Jail. 

Owing to some strange influence, the true in- 
wardness of which has not been discovered unto 
this day, their case was never called for trial, and 
several months afterward State’s Attorney Reed 
had it struck from the docket. 

Moore met Officer O’Donnell shortly after this 
curious incident, and said, significantly: 

“ You refused that $800; other people were not 
as scrupulous as you.” 


THE SERPENT ENTERS EDEN 


1 15 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE SERPENT ENTERS EDEN. 

“ GOOD morning, papa.” 

The elderly gentleman laid aside the newspaper 
which he had been reading, and looked up. 

“ Good morning, my dear.” 

Is there anything interesting in the Herald this 
morning? ” 

“ The Herald is always interesting to me, my 
dear. You know we old business men can find 
interesting matter where younggirls like you would 
only become bored.” 

" I really cannot see anything interesting in old 
stocks and things like that,” pouting prettily. 

“ Because you are not concerned in them, dear. 
You do not understand them.” 

“ And, if the proper knowledge of them brings 
the deep wrinkles which have furrowed your fore- 
head, papa, I do rro. want to understand them. I 
prefer to remain in ignorance.” 

“ Thought brings wrinkles, dear.” 

“ And stocks bring thought, eh, my dear papa.” 

The gentleman smiled, and pressed a tender kiss 
upon his daughter’s brow. 

A fair young thing was Alicia Dupont. A little 
past eighteen, she looked scarcely sixteen. Her 
eyes were of that blue seen in the sky in the early 
mornings of springtime; her cheeks, flushed with 
the rosy tints of health, were as soft as the down 
upon a ripened peach. Her form, just developing 


n 6 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


into perfect rounded womanhood, was petite and 
delicate, a girl one could love, a sweet little 
creature that one could clasp into their arms and 
never release. 

The hour was nearly nine in the morning. She 
had arisen a short time before, and had come to 
breakfast with papa — Horace Dupont. 

A man of perhaps fifty, but who looked older, 
a well-known broker and banker, was the elderly 
gentleman, the father of divine Alicia. She 
walked behind his chair. 

“ Is that all there is in the papers,” she asked 
again, “ stocks and bonds? You did not answer 
my question, papa. ” 

“ No; I believe I did not; and that is a criminal 
offense in your code, isn’t it? ” 

“ Well; I like to have my questions answered,” 
pouting. 

“ Of course you do. Show me a woman who 
does not. Well, yes, dear; there is an interesting 
item in the paper this morning; a tale of so much 
sorrow and woe, together with such divine forgive- 
ness and a man’s true love (which is so rare) that it 
brought the tears to my eyes.” 

“ Let me read it,” she cried, eagerly pouncing 
upon the paper. 

“ It is upon the first page, dear, the second col- 
umn. It is headed ‘ A lost one found,’ a good 
title for a novel.” 

She did not make any reply. She had found the 
place, and was reading Joe Drumley’s heart story. 
The tears — pearls of divine worth — gathered in 


THE SERPENT ENTERS EDEN II 7 

her eyes as she read. A sigh of heartfelt sym- 
pathy escaped her lips as she finished it. 

“ How sad," she murmured, “ after so many 
years, to find his wife a criminal. How could 
she have done such a thing ? ” 

“ A woman is the greatest conundrum in exist- 
ence," replied Mr. Dupont. “ You never can un- 
derstand them." 

“ I am a woman, papa," said Alicia, gravely. 

“ So you are, dear; a sweet little woman; still, 
you are a conundrum." 

“ Why, papa! you do not mean it? you certainly 
can understand me." 

“ Yes, little one; but you know what we have to 
do when we do not know the answer to a conun- 
drum? " 

“ Yes, we have to give it up." 

“ That is what I shall be called upon, some day, 
to do with you — give you up to some handsome 
fellow who will win you from your old, crabbed 
papa." 

She threw her arms around his neck; soft, dim- 
pled arms, of snowy whiteness. 

“ If I ever marry, papa dear, my husband must 
consent to make my house his home. I shall never 
leave you, and you’re not crabbed," she cried. 

“ Never mind, dear; we won’t argue upon that 
subject; we will wait till the time comes. ‘ Sufficient 
to the day is the evil thereof.’ Come, let us go 
in to breakfast; I’m hungry, and I must hurry 
down town soon." 

They had been sitting in a lovely little room, 


1 18 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


just off the dining-room; now they walked slowly 
into the apartment, where the table, covered with 
the smoking viands, certainly looked tempting. 

The room was unoccupied. 

“ Now, where is that boy ? ” grumbled the father. 
“ He must certainly be up by this time.” 

“ Here I am, father! ” cried a healthy-looking 
boy of about sixteen years, dashing into the din- 
ing-room. “ I was coming through the hall, and 
heard you. I’ve been up for an hour.” 

“ Where have you been?” asked the father, as 
they sat down to the table. 

“ Out on the stoop, waiting for some one to 
answer your ‘ ad.’ ” 

The young girl (who was pouring out the coffee) 
cast a look of inquiry upon her father. He saw it 
and answered it. 

“ I advertised for a tutor to coach Harold in his 
studies during the summer months.” 

“ You did not mention it to me,” pouted Alicia. 

“ Must I tell you everything, puss? ” 

“ Of course you always do. You should not 
have begun doing so. You have formed a bad 
habit in my mind — that of wanting to know 
everything.” 

“ All girls want to know everything,” broke in 
Master Harold. 

' It is a womanly failing,” agreed the father, with 
a smile. 

A vigorous ring at the bell caused them to look 
up from their plates, a few minutes later. 


THE SERPENT ENTERS EDEN 1 19 

“ Two to one, that’s the teacher,” shouted the 
boy. 

“ How often have I told you it is not gentlemanly 
to use such language,” said the sister, reprovingly. 

“ Remove the beam out of your own eye, before 
you look for the mote in the eye of your brother,” 
remarked Harold, altering the scriptural saying to 
suit himself. 

“ I do not use such language,” cried Alicia. 

“ Not just that, perhaps; but you said the other 
day, when Georgiana Smithson passed the house 
with her new dress on, that she looked like a 
4 gawk,’ and, if that ain’t bad language, I’d like to 
know it.” 

“ Now, children, don’t quarrel,” said Mr. Dupont, 
reprovingly. 

“ Well, Henry, who is it? ” as the footman entered 
with a neat card. 

“ Gentleman wishes to see you, sir.” 

The gentleman took the card. 

“ Albert Greenleaf, tutor, professor of languages, 
music and etiquette,” he read. 

“ Humph ! Pretty well posted, this fellow. 
Where is he? ” 

“ In the drawing-room.” 

“ Tell him to wait. I will be with him as soon 
as I have finished my breakfast.” 

Henry retired. 

“ Here is a chance for you, Alicia,” remarked the 
father, as he resumed his breakfast. “ The tutor is 
a professor of music also.” 


120 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE. 


“ I shall be pleased to have an opportunity of 
improving in my music.” 

“ You need it,” remarked Harold, his mouth full 
of steak. 

“ You two are forever at it,” said the father, with 
a smile. 

“ But we don’t mean anything by it,” cried 
Harold. “ I like to tease sis, she gets so mad over 
it ; and, you know, she’s awful pretty when she 
blushes.” 

If she had ever looked beautiful, she appeared 
radiant now, as the hot blood dyed her cheeks. 

“ You are an awful tease, Harold,” she cried, 
tossing her curls. 

“ And you like it, don’t you, now? ” 

“ I won’t say that I do not.” 

Mr. Dupont wiped his mouth with his napkin, 
and said, as he arose from the table, “ I am going 
in to see Mr. Greenleaf. See that you two behave 
yourselves while I am gone. ” 

11 Oh, we’ll do that ; won’t we, sis? ” cried Haroid. 

M We will try to,” answered the maiden, 
demurely. 

The father left the room. 

These two were the idols of his heart. His wife 
had died some five years before and left the chil- 
dren to him. He had ever been an indulgent 
father, and the love he lavished upon them was 
returned by the bey and girl, who fairly worshiped 
their indulgent, kind old father. 

As Mr. Dupont entered the drawing-room, a 
slim, dark, handsome man, whose age it would have 


THE SERPENT ENTERS EDEN 121 

been difficult to guess, arose, and bowed respect- 
fully. 

“ You are Mr. Greenleaf? ” inquired the wealthy 
gentleman. 

“ At your service, sir,” answered the stranger, 
in a deep, mellow voice. 

“ You came in answer to my advertisement? ” 

“ Yes, sir; I was contemplating a trip to Cali- 
fornia, but, seeing your advertisement, I thought, 
perhaps, I might better myself by remaining in 
Chicago.” 

“ You have taught before? ” 

A peculiar smile — self satisfied in its nature — 
curled Mr. Greenleaf’s lips. 

“ I have been a teacher for ten years, sir,” he 
said. 

“ You are well posted? ” 

“ In all the branches — English literature, 
French, German, Spanish, Geometry, Astronomy 
and so on; I think I can give you satisfaction, sir.” 

“ No doubt,” thought Mr. Dupont. 

“ What salary would you think proper? ” he 
asked. 

The tutor smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I will leave that to you, sir,” he answered; 
“ you have some idea what my services would be 
worth to you. ” 

“ Well, yes. If you are, as you say, proficient 
in all these studies, you would be a valuable man 
for me. You could teach my son and prepare him 
for college, besides instructing my daughter in 


music. 


122 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ You have a daughter? ” 

“ Yes; a girl of eighteen.” 

“ And my pupil — his age? ” 

" Sixteen.” 

“ Ah! I could make myself a companion to him 
— I should like to engage myself to you.” 

“ Well, I guess we can arrange that. I will pay 
you a salary of $2,500 for the first year, and prob- 
ably increase it after. You can live in the house — 
become a member of my family.” 

“ You are too generous,” cried the man, rising 
to his feet. “ I shall endeavor to prove my worth. ” 

The banker thought he detected signs of tears 
in the tutor’s eyes. It softened him wonderfully 
toward him. 

“ Got a good heart,” he thought. Alo.ud he said: 
“ Then, you accept? ” 

“ With a thousand thanks.” 

“ Very well, then. When can you come?” 

“ To-day; in an hour. My wardrobe is not ex- 
tensive; I have been unfortunate.” 

“ Poor devil! A gentleman in hard luck,” 
thought kind-hearted Horace Dupont. “ Would 
you like to be introduced to your future pupils be- 
fore you go? ” 

“ It would afford me pleasure.” 

“ Come right this way, then; they have not fin- 
ished breakfast yet; you must excuse the appear- 
ance of the table. ” 

“ Make no excuses, sir; to me it is a pleasant 
sight; a table which has just furnished a good 
meal, standing in the midst of the debris.” 


THE SERPENT ENTERS EDEN 


123 


They had reached the door, opening upon the 
dining-room; peals of merry laughter sounded 
from within. Mr. Dupont turned the knob quickly, 
and such a sight met his gaze. Harold had the 
cat dressed up in the cook’s apron, which he had 
confiscated, and was feeding her with cream; Miss 
Puss enjoying the meal, and looking irresistibly 
funny as she blinked her wise eyes, waiting for 
more. 

Lying back in her chair, Alicia was giving vent 
to the peals of musical laughter, which they had 
heard. 

In spite of himself, Mr. Dupont was obliged 
to smile, while the tutor joined Alicia, and burst 
into a loud guffaw. 

“ These are your pupils, ” remarked the father, in 
a tone of feigned horror. 

“ We’ll get along all right,” gasped Mr. Green- 
leaf, between his fits of laughter. 

Seeing the stranger, Alicia subdued her merri- 
ment, and sat demurely erect in her chair, while 
Master Harold allowed pussy to go free. 

“ I have brought your new tutor in to introduce 
him to you. The preliminaries are not at all to 
your credit,” began the father. 

“ I am very sorry, father,but I thought perhaps 
pussy was hungry,” remarked Harold, gravely. 

His gravity nearly upset Miss Alicia again; she 
shook with suppressed laughter. 

“ Mr. Albert Greenleaf, this is my son, Harold 
Dupont; you will find him a hard subject. This is 
my daughter, Alicia; you will teach her what she 


124 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


does not already know, in music. They are both 
good children, rather mischievous (you have had 
an illustration of that); but you will find them easy 
pupils and generous hearted.” 

“ We will get along well together,” murmured the 
teacher, with a sly nod to Harold and a bow to 
Alicia. 

But, as his eyes swept her face, their penetrating, 
piercing power burned into her heart. She had 
never felt so peculiar before; she wondered why 
she felt so. 

This new tutor affected her strangely; she seemed 
attracted toward him; she thought him handsome; 
his bow was perfection; he was, doubtless, a gen- 
tleman. 

“ Yes; I think we will get along well together,” 
she murmured, giving him her little hand. 

And so Albert Greenleaf, roue, scoundrel, 
unprincipled wretch, entered this happy home. 
So the serpent entered Eden. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 

A MONTH passed by; a month in which many 
changes took place in the home of Horace Dupont. 
The new tutor had succeeded in ingratiating him- 
self into the good graces of pupils and employer. 
He was found to possess a fund of universal knowl- 
edge; politics, religion, finance, commercial law, 
were at his fingers’ ends. Mr. Dupont congratulated 


THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 


125 


himself upon securing such a treasure; his even- 
ings, spent with the tutor, were ones of pleasure; 
he dearly loved to debate the knotty problems of 
the day, and in Albert Greenleaf he found an 
opponent worthy of his steel; a man who argued 
soundly, and accepted defeat gracefully. Harold 
was infatuated with his tutor; he was a fine shot, an 
expert taxidermist, thoroughly understood the art 
of piscatorial sport, and was, in all, so kind, such 
a jovial, rollicking companion, that the boy fairly 
loved him. 

And Alicia — she, poor girl, had changed. No 
longer the merry romp, but quiet, subdued in man- 
ner and deportment; always the loving smile, the 
gentle way, for her father; but, when alone, she 
would grow sad, her gentle eyes would fill with 
tears, and she would sit for hours gazing out of the 
window, seeing nothing, oblivious to her surround- 
ings, occupied with her thoughts. And what was 
the secret of all this? 

Let me whisper. The gentle maiden loved 
Albert Greenleaf, the handsome, smooth-tongued, 
low-voiced tutor. She had grown to love him 
madly. When he bent over her at the piano, and 
instructed her in his musical voice, her heart would 
beat rapidly, her hands would tremble, she would 
become so agitated that she could not play. 

Yes, she loved him; and he? He knew it. He 
had read her transparent soul, and knew that, at the 
proper time, she would become an easy victim. 
He had not decided yet what to do. In his base 
heart, there was no feeling of love for this fair girl, 


126 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


unless the feeling of the hawk for the dove can be 
called love. He would have ruined her without a 
moment’s hesitation, but that he appreciated his 
good fortune, and did not wish to spoil his present 
bright prospects. The luxurious surroundings, 
the kindly ways of his employer, the liberal pay, 
all held him in check. He would have married 
her, suggested an elopement, and risked the con- 
sequences, but he feared that the father who looked 
upon him with kindly eyes as a tutor for his chil- 
dren, would never accept him as a husband for his 
beautiful daughter. He looked higher than a com- 
mon teacher for his darling. He had even hinted 
that he contemplated a high and noble marriage 
for her. 

And so matters stood. 

But things cannot run on in this way. Fire of 
any kind consumes whatever it touches ; and the 
fire of love, although kept smoldering, is bound 
to break out at some time, perhaps when least 
expected, and burn and consume the heart. 

It was the second week in June. The day had 
been a pleasant one, and Harold and his teacher 
had been out of the city upon a fishing tour. 
Alicia sat before the piano, her fingers lightly 
touching the keys, extracting soft chords and 
snatches of harmony. It was nearly nine o’clock. 
Suddenly the sound of merry voices announced the 
return of the fishermen. They were coming up 
the wide steps before the house. 

The girl rose, and went to the window. She 
saw the tall form of Greenleaf, neatly clad in a 


THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 


127 


white flannel suit which set off his dark, handsome 
face to advantage. In his hand he held a rod and 
reel. 

“ How handsome he is,” she thought, “ and how 
I love him. Ah! if he only knew.” 

She turned with a sigh, and threw herself into 
the capacious depths of an arm-chair. 

Presently she began to sob — soft, gentle sobs, 
swelling up from her heart. Gradually they in- 
creased in intensity. The sobs grew louder; her 
delicately rounded form trembled and shook with 
the violence of her emotion. 

“ Ah! how miserable I am,” she moaned, uncon- 
sciously speaking aloud. 

“ And what should make you miserable? ” asked 
a soft, manly voice, close to her. 

She looked up with a cry of startled surprise, 
and saw Albert Greenleaf leaning against the piano. 

Blushing with shame, that he, of all others, should 
have heard her words, she murmured: 

“ You heard my foolish words.” 

“ I heard what you said. It remains to be seen 
whether they were foolish words or not. ” 

“ I did not know I spoke aloud.” 

She hesitated. 

“ But you did.” 

He sat down near her; so close that he could take 
her little hand. He felt it tremble violently in his 
own. 

“ Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me why you 
are miserable.” 


128 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ Ah, I don’t know,” making an ineffectual effort 
to release her hand. “I must have been dreaming. ” 

“ Dreaming with your eyes wide open. No; you 
were awake. You uttered those words, influenced 
by some sorrow. Come, tell me what was it? ” 

She tried to laugh. Such a dismal attempt. 

“ Sorrow ! Why should I feel sorrow? or misery, 
for that matter? I am surrounded by those I love, 
those who love me; I have everything heart should 
wish for; why should I feel miserable? ” she tried 
to speak lightly. 

“ And yet you are miserable, unhappy. I have 
seen it; I heard you say so. You were weeping 
when I entered the room- I don’t believe your eyes 
are dry yet.” 

“ You must have been mistaken.” 

“ No; I was not mistaken. Even now your voice 
is agitated. What is it? Tell me; I will advise 
you in what is best to alleviate your sufferings.” 

His voice was so tender, so low and gentle. 

She burst into tears again — wild, impulsive sobs. 

“ Do not ask me,” she murmured. “ Do not 
force me to tell you. I cannot; I cannot.” 

He still held her hand — little, trembling, dim- 
pled hand. He gently drew her toward him; the 
golden head was lying upon his breast. With a 
frightened cry, she broke away from him. 

“Don’t do that,” she cried, standing trembling 
before him. “ You must not do that.” 

“ Sit down,” he said. 

She mutely obeyed him. 

“ Shall I tell you what caused your agitation, 


THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 129 

what has changed you so during the past few 
weeks? ” 

She made no reply, only trembled. 

He continued: 

“ I will, my poor, frightened bird; I will tell 
you; you love. Do not start. Be calm! Your 
secret is safe in my breast. Yes, you love, and he 
whom you love returns it. For weeks he has seen 
it all; has wished to speak, to take you to his 
breast, and tell you how much he loved you; but 
he has feared to do so, feared the consequences; 
but it is all over now. Come what may, it must 
be told. Listen, dear. Yes, sweetest maiden on 
earth, I am the man! I love you! I can feel you 
trembling. I know my words have reached your 
ears, sunken deep into your heart. My arms are 
ready to receive you. Come, pillow your head 
upon my breast, above the heart that beats only 
for you.” 

He slowly moved nearer to her side, as he spoke 
the words — deceitful, lying words. He took her 
in his arms; she did not struggle; her heart 
was beating with wild, intense joy, her breath 
coming from between her parted lips in short, 
quick, passionate gasps. He kissed her, lingering 
lovingly upon the virgin lips, never before defiled 
by the kiss of man, save that of her father and 
brother. The warm, subtle air, gently wafted in 
through the open window, rippled through her 
hair. The sound of sweet music came to her on 
the breeze. Ah, if she could only remain in those 
arms — live there! die there! But, no; some one 
The Runaway Wife 9 


130 THE RUNAWAY WIFE 

may come; her father, her brother. She strug- 
gled to arise to her feet. 

“ Peace, little one ; rest, tired bird. You have 
found your mate ; be content to be loved.” 

She succumbed to the power of his influence — 
she fell back into his arms. 

The moments sped — moments of intense joy to 
this innocent one, reveling in the bliss of a new- 
found pleasure, a heart’s first love. Again and 
again he pressed his lips to her own ; almost pas- 
sionately she returned his caresses. All was for- 
gotten — father, brother, her surroundings, all — 
only that she was in the arms of her beloved ; only 
that her breast was filled with love, her brain intox- 
icated with rapture. 

She could feel her face burning — burning 
beneath his kisses. She heeded it not ; she had 
found her love — he loved her. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A BITTER BLOW. 

No CLOUD seemed to intervene between Joe 
Drumley and happiness now. His wife clung to 
him through the long months of bitter suspense 
as though afraid some misfortune would separate 
them again. His never-wearying kindness, his 
large-hearted charity, had apparently awakened the 
old love in her heart; and in his eyes she was dearer 
and sweeter and lovelier than when, in the full 
bloom of budding womanhood, she uttered the 


A BITTER BLOW 


13 I 

vows that were to blend their souls in life-long 1 
harmony. 

While that fearful indictment hung over her head, 
Joe never mentioned the subject of returning 
home. But, after this impediment was sweptaway, 
he was anxious to get back to Todmorden with the 
long-lost mother of his children. 

Mrs. Drumley, however, did not share his impa- 
tience. She said very little, but* her manner 
indicated that the past was rankling in her bosom; 
she dreaded to face her old neighbors. Not even 
the love for her children, deep and tender as she 
professed it, could overcome this feeling. Her 
reluctance to talk even of the old home pained Joe 
at times, but he kept up a stout heart, confident 
that patience and forbearance and kindness would 
bring everything in the right groove, and end in a 
happy reunion by the cheerful fireside of the old 
Crown Inn. 

“ It’ll wear away,” he said, hopefully, to his 
friend O’Donnell. “ Rome weren’t built in a daay, 
and it’s nobbut nat’ral that she should shrink fra’ 
facin’ t’ folks who knew her when she wor t’ prood- 
est and happiest lass i’ th’ town. Aw’ll waat, lad; 
everything ’ll work reet in taime.” 

But it did not wear away, and Simon, who had 
often dropped in at their boarding-house, thought 
he saw the shadows lengthening on the woman’s 
face, and began to tremble for the future of his 
friend. 

A change was taking place in her heart. She 
had sipped at the poisoned chalice of sin, and calm, 


132 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


domestic peace palled upon her. The assiduous 
attention, the tender kindliness of her husband, 
grew distasteful. She chafed under the allusions 
to home and children. She could not return and 
hold up her head as of yore; and she would rather 
die than become the target for slanderous gossip. 

These dangerous thoughts grew stronger daily, 
until at last, ignoring and forgetting everything she 
owed to honest Joe Drumley, she broke out in open 
rebellion. 

“ It’s no use, Joe,” she said, petulantly. “ I won’t 
go back to England. Three months of that hum- 
drum life would kill me. You’d better leave me, 
and take care of the children.” 

This heartless proposition chilled Drumley to the 
core. 

“ Why, lass,” he cried, in tones of mingled agony 
and terror — “ why, lass, what ails thee? Tha 
woan’t goa back to th’ old country? Recall tha 
words, Betty, or tha’ll break ma heart.” 

“ Don’t be a fool, Joe,” she said, coldly. “ Our 
ways are different, and I cannot bear the thought 
of leaving the bustle and excitement of America. 
Besides, my life is smirched, and we will be better 
apart.” 

The man looked at her with a world of compas- 
sion in his eyes. He could scarce believe that the 
woman he had rescued from a felon’s cell, whom he 
had watched over and loved as tenderly as a child, 
whose future path in life he would have striven heart 
and soul to make smooth and peaceful, could so 
cruelly and deliberately propose a separation. 


A BITTER BLOW 


*33 


" Tha’s dune nothing/’ he said — and his words 
came painfully and slowly — “ that honest repent- 
ance woan’t cure. Think o’ what tha’s sayin’, lass. 
We’ve got a good whoam and three bonnie bairns. 
The past is dead and gane. The childer want 
thee; aw want thee; tha whoam is waiten’ for thee. 
Woan’t thee try to mak’ us aril happy ag’in? Betty, 
lass, unsaay tha words.” 

The pathos of this appeal had no effect; the demon 
of unrest, the wild craving for excitement, possessed 
her completely. Home, husband and children were 
alike indifferent to her now, and she almost laughed 
the man to scorn as she cried: 

“ It’s useless, man. My mind’s made up. I will 
remain in Chicago the rest of my days.” 

“ Stop, Betty,” said Drumley, in a choking voice. 
“ Doan’t saay it’s useless. Aw’ve newer said what 
it cost me, after faive, long, weary years o’ sorrow, 
to cross t’ ocean to fawnd tha, leavin’ childer i’ care 
o’ strangers, and t’ owd whoamstead goin’ to rack 
and ruin, may be. Aw did ivverything wi’ a cheer- 
ful heart, for aw thowt tha were’t i’ trubble, and 
would fain be glad to welcome Joe Drumley wi’ 
oppen arms and lovin’ heart. Noo si’ thee, lass, 
ar’ll de mare. If it’s goin’ back and facin’ things 
that werritts tha, aw’ll sell off t’ owd place, and 
fetch t’ children here, and we’ll start on a new laife 
among strangers. Say t’ word, Betty, lass; say t’ 
word, for God’s sake ! ” 

Was the woman human to reject this offer of love 
and protection? For a moment she wavered; for 
a moment the old-time yearning for home and 


134 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


children came strong upon her, and tears started 
to her eyes. But this softened feeling, this purer 
impulse, could find no lodgment among the wild 
desires of her heart. With a contemptuous ges- 
ture she snapped forever the cords of love, and 
answered decisively: 

u It’s no use, Joe. Go thy ways, and I’ll go mine. 
It will be better in the end.” 

“ Then, God help thee, lass,” the man said, sor- 
rowfully; “ and God help me and t’ bairns.” 

CHAPTER XX. 

BOWERY JOE DEVELOPS A NEW SCHEME. 

There seems to be a fascination pertaining to 
crime that is irresistible. Few of those, of either 
sex, who have ever tasted the cup of criminal 
pleasure, but what yearn for it again. Even the 
midnight burglar, the thief, incarcerated in a dun- 
geon for years, to punish him, eagerly plunges into 
the depth again upon his release, glad to sip at the 
chalice of crime again. We can all remember ho*w 
much easier it was to do wrong, when but children. 
The stolen apple tasted better, the midnight raids 
upon the watermelon patches were far more 
pleasurable than going to prayer meeting, or sitting 
at home hearing the Bible read by the good 
parents. The pathway to sin is so easy to follow, 
but alas for the end. So few stop to consider 
where the road of flowers leads ; do not wish to 
be faced with the truth, that roses have thorns, and 


BOWERY JOE DEVELOPS A NEW SCHEME 1 35 

the wages of sin is death! But the mind of man is 
weak, the heart irresolute. One plunge — it is 
over. We only have one life to lead! Let us 
enjoy ourselves! So says frivolous mankind. It 
was ever so with Joseph Drumley’s erring wife. 
Her advancement in crime had been rapid. Her 
career marked with success under Bowery Joe’s 
careful and experienced instructions, she became a 
very queen in her profession. None so daring; 
none so bold as she. Numerous were the audacious 
robberies committed in broad daylight, right 
under the very eyes of the police — now in New 
York, then in Philadelphia; again, in some small 
city like Newark or Trenton. The fertile brain of 
Bowery Joe invented new schemes daily, all of 
them good ones, liable to throw the most suspicious 
off their guard. And she, with a wild, exhilarating 
sense of pleasure, helped him to carry them out; 
in fact, in nearly all cases, carried out the opera- 
tion herself. Her audacity was without parallel. 
One day she stepped into a large wholesale dry 
goods store in Philadelphia. Her carriage was at 
the door. She stepped up to the counter where 
the silks were displayed. The clerks were busy. 
She deliberately picked up a large bolt of silk, and, 
wrapping it up in some paper near by, carried it to 
the door. An officer was standing there. 

“ Will you kindly hand this to my coachman, 
yonder,” she murmured, holding out the package 
to him. 

“ With pleasure, madam,” answered the officer. 

She returned to the store, looked about her for 


136 THE RUNAWAY WIFE 

a few moments, and then calmly walked out and 
entered her coupe. The very boldness of the 
action saved her from suspicion. When she had 
been arrested for trying to pass counterfeit money, 
her ardor had become dampened. It was the first 
time she had ever been in custody, and it filled her 
with terror. She resolved to return to her hus- 
band, and be true and faithful to him. My sweet 
little children,” she murmured; “ how glad I shall 
be to see them. Yes, I’ll go with Joe, and be a 
good wife again.” 

But a few weeks of the society of her plain, 
honest husband, soon made her dissatisfied. The 
demon of unrest took possession of her soul. The 
craving for sin, for the society of depraved men 
and women, came to her; she would lie by her 
husband’s side at night, while he would be sleeping 
soundly, dreaming of a happy home, a family 
re-united, perhaps, and allow her imagination to 
run riot. Her hot blood would surge through her 
veins; her mouth become dry, her breath short, 
from the debasing thoughts that agitated her. No; 
she could not stand this life; its very peace and 
sanctity oppressed her; and so she determined to 
cut adrift from love and home, kindly care and 
attention, and return to her mire and degradation. 
She did so; nearly breaking her husband’s heart, 
making the strong man a child in weakness, caused 
by the terrible blow. 

She was received with open arms by her com- 
panions in crime, particularly Bowery Joe. 

“ I knew you’d come back to us,” he cried; 


BOWERY JOE DEVELOPS A NEW SCHEME 1 37 

“ you’re a good one, Bet. You could never be 
content to settle down.” 

She agreed with him. They had a little supper 
that night, in which sparkling wine played an im- 
portant part. She was put to bed intoxicated, a 
helpless, idiotic, drunken creature. The days 
passed by. There was no need of attempting rob- 
bery of any kind. Joe had plenty of money, and 
willingly shared it with her. Her life was one con- 
tinued round of pleasure (?) and dissipation. The 
counterfeiting scheme had to be given up. Joe 
had originated it. It was the only one of his plans 
that had fallen through. It could not be carried 
out further, for it was now laid bare to the police; 
so he gave it up. But his brain was busy. He 
did not propose to remain long in idleness. He 
soon hit upon a new one, a little more risky than 
any of the others, but still one that looked plausible, 
and held out big inducements in the way of plun- 
der. He unfolded it to Betty one night, as they 
sat at supper. 

" I have a new scheme, Bet,” he began. 

“ So ? a good one ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you; you can judge.” 

She nodded her head and he began. 

“ The city has been pretty quiet lately; the gangs 
of burglars have seemed to have given it the go-by, 
the coppers are so confounded watchful of late. 
Well, we’ll turn ’em upside down in a day or so. 
There are lots of rich bugs in certain parts of 
town, who have considerable plate and jewelry 


133 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


lying around loose. Some of ’em keep their 
money in the house, too; we want some of it.” 

“ That we do; but how are you going to get 
it?” 

In answer to her question, he took a copy of the 
Herald from his pocket, and, turning over to the 
advertising columns, began to read: 

“Wanted — A respectable single woman as 
housemaid. Apply, No. — LaSalle avenue.” 
“ Wanted — A young woman to assist housekeeper 
in small family. Apply, — Washington boule- 
vard,” and so on through the column. 

Laying the paper aside, he said: “ You must get 
yourself up as a neat, clean working girl; comb 
your hair back plain; do away with jewelry; use 
your respectful manners, the melancholy look in 
the eyes, and so on. Answer one of these f ads; ’ 
get into the family; find out all the points, and 
quietly let in myself and a partner, and we will get 
away with the stuff. In a day or so, you can 
receive a letter from a rich uncle somewhere and 
leave the place. We can work two or three places 
in different parts of the city, and then pack up and 
leave for fresh fields and pastures new; you are a 
great looker, so innocent, and so on. Your face is 
good, and the scheme can be easily worked.” 

“ I don’t like the idea of the servant part of it,” 
pettishly. 

“ You won’t have to do much work; you’ll only 
have to stay long enough to get into the good 
graces of the family; then you can spring the 
scheme and go.” 


BOWERY JOE DEVELOPS A NEW SCHEME 1 39 

“ Very well,” she said; “ when shall I begin? ” 

“ To-morrow morning; be up early; we will look 
over the paper, and select one or two promising 
‘ads/ and you can answer them; if you don’t 
catch on at the first, go to the second; be sure and 
go to the basement door; an experienced servant 
now uses the principal entrance.” 

The next morning they were up before six 
o’clock; she had not risen so early in some time, 
and did not feel very good. 

Joe went out for the paper. Upon his return, he 
looked it over carefully, marking two or three 
" ads ” with a pencil. 

“ There you are,” he cried; “ three good ones. 
Go to this one first; I know this name; the man is 
a well-known banker and broker; there ought to be 
good pickings there. Get through your breakfast 
and hustle.” 

She swallowed a cup of coffee and ate an egg; 
she was not hungry; early rising had taken away 
her usually good appetite. 

As the clock struck seven, she had arrived at 
the first of the places, where a neat, well-bred 
woman was wanted as housemaid. 

She rang the basement bell. A middle-aged 
woman answered the summons. 

“ I came in answer to an advertisement,” she 
answered. 

The woman looked at her sharply, but her 
scrutiny seemed to impress her favorably, for she 
threw open the door and said : “ Oh, yes ; we need 
a housemaid. Come in.” 


140 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


She followed the woman into the kitchen. A 
few servants were gathered about a table, eating 
their morning meal. * 

“ You will be obliged to wait until Mr. Dupont 
gets up. He will be around in thirty minutes or 
so. He does all the hiring.” 

“ Very well,” murmured the applicant, dropping 
her eyes under the scrutinizing gaze of the servants. 

The woman who admitted her seemed to be the 
highest in authority — an upper servant, probably 
the housekeeper. 

“ Have you ever lived out before? ” she inquired, 
kindly, as she took her place at the head of the 
table. 

49 No ; but I did all the work of my father’s house 
previous to his death,” with a look of gentle sad- 
ness. 

The housekeeper observed it. “ So your father 
is dead’? ” she asked, softly. 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you have no other relatives? ” 

“No. I am alone in the world.” Tears stood 
in her eyes. 

The kind-hearted woman felt attracted toward 
her. 

“ Never mind,” she said; “ I will speak a good 
word in your favor to Mr. Dupont; he is a very 
nice gentleman, and you will have a good home 
here.” 

The bereaved one cast a look of gratitude upon 
the kindly-spoken woman; a moment later a bell 
sounded. 


BOWERY JOE DEVELOPS A NEW SCHEME 141 

“ Mr. Dupont,” cried the housekeeper. “ Henry, 
go and tell him this young woman is here.” 

Henry slowly arose, and left the kitchen. In a 
few moments he returned, and announced that Mr. 
Dupont would see the young woman. 

Betty arose, and followed him up the stairs; the 
next moment she stood in Mr. Dupont’s presence; 
he was sitting in the small room adjoining the 
dining-room, glancing through the columns of the 
Herald. 

11 The young woman, sir! ” announced Henry. 

“ Oh, yes; ” laying aside the paper. 

“ You came to apply for the position of house- 
maid? ” 

“ Yes, sir; ” modestly. 

“ How old are you? ” 

“ Thirty, sir. ” 

“ You don’t look it.” 

No reply. 

“ Have you ever been in service before? ” Again 
the pitiful story of the father. The beautiful eyes 
filled with tears; they softened kind-hearted Hor- 
ace Dupont. 

“ Never mind, my dear; don’t cry. I guess we 
can arrange riiatters. You were married? ” 

“ No, sir. My father was an invalid, and I was 
obliged to take care of him. I was engaged to be 
married to a young man, but I was obliged to cut 
it off.” 

“ Too bad. Well, my dear, I guess you’ll suit 
me. Those little hands don’t look much like hard 
work. But you won’t have it very hard here. I’ll 


142 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


put the present waitress on the housework. You 
can fill her position.” 

“ Oh, thank you, sir; such kindness is so unex- 
pected. I will try to be faithful.” 

“ I believe you’ll be that. When can you 
come?” 

“ At once, sir. I can return for my things to- 
night.” 

“ Very good; you can go. Your wages will be 
three dollars per week. You can return to the 
kitchen. Send Mrs. Abbott to me, the house- 
keeper,” as a look of inquiry came to the woman’s 
face. 

She bowed, and turned to leave the room. He 
called after her: 

“ What is your name? ” 

“ Elizabeth Horton, sir.” 

“ Lizzie for short.” 

“ I am usually called Betty, sir, for short.” 

“ Very well, Betty it shall be, although I like 
Lizzie the best. You can go now. ” 

She left the room. As she crossed the hall 
toward the basement door, a man who had been 
coming down the stairs, approached her; a light 
whistle upon his lips, his jet black hair combed 
back from his high forehead. She had her back to 
him. Something in the figure of the woman struck 
him as being familiar. He came up behind her. 

“Are you the new girl?” he asked, in alight 
tone. 

She heard the words, recognized the voice. 


AN INTERVIEW 143 

turned, and, grasping the knob of the door, stag- 
gered back. 

The man turned pale. With a low, hoarse cry, 
he recoiled; “ My God, Betty! ” he gasped. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

AN INTERVIEW. 

For a moment she could hardly credit the evi- 
dence of her senses. This man who had worked 
her ruin, who had given her the start in crime, 
whose soft voice and treacherous smile had lured 
her from home and loved ones, stood before her. 
He in this house, and for what purpose? 

“ What are you here for? ” he asked, in a low, 
hissing whisper. 

“ I might ask the same question of you,” she 
retorted, in a guarded tone. 

“ I must see you alone soon. We must have an 
understanding,” he hurried on. 

She nodded her head. 

“ Do not recognize me; I will do the same for 
you.” 

Again she nodded. The sound of footsteps upon 
the stairs came to them. 

“ I will see you soon,” she said, and disappeared 
down the steps leading to the basement. 

The next moment Alicia stood by his side. 

He pressed a fervent kiss upon her lips, after 
glancing stealthily around. Then they entered the 
apartment where the father sat reading the paper. 


144 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


“ Good morning,” he cried, cheerily. “ You are 
both looking as bright as a new dollar. Where is 
Harold?” 

“ I left him dressing; he won’t be long, "answered 
Greenleaf. 

He was right. In a short time the boy bounded 
into the room. 

Mrs. Abbott came in soon after. 

“ You wished to see me, Mr. Dupont? ” 

“ Yes, Mrs. Abbott. This young woman whom 
I have engaged this morning — give her Marion’s 
work, the care of the dining-room. Put Marion 
on the housework, and allow her a dollar more on 
her wages.” 

“ A new girl, papa! ” murmured Alicia. 

“ Yes; a lady, every inch of her. She has not 
been accustomed to service. Her father died, and 
she was obliged to seek employment,” and he 
related the whole sad story; Alicia listening, her 
heart filled with sympathy; Greenleaf apparently 
interested, but at heart cursing the fate that had 
brought this woman beneath the same roof as 
himself. 

A doubtful look rested upon the kindly face of 
Mrs. Abbott. 

“ Do you think it advisable to put this strange 
woman in charge of the dining-room, sir?” she 
asked. “ She will have the plate and all the costly 
linen in her charge. We don’t know her.” 

“ Your interest in the welfare of the house makes 
you suspicious, my dear lady. I would stake my 
fortune on that woman’s honesty. She is open as 


AN INTERVIEW 145 

the day. You need not fear for the plate. I believe 
it will be perfectly safe in her hands.” 

“ I did not say I thought her dishonest, sir,” 
cried Mrs. Abbott. “ But we don’t know whether 
she is competent or not.” 

“ You can teach her; you know what is to be 
done. I know you will interest yourself in this 
fatherless one. Go and instruct her in the work 
to be done. She can wait on the table at break- 
fast. I think she will prove a treasure.” 

The housekeeper turned to leave the room. 

“ And Mrs. Abbott ” — she halted at the door — 
“ she can have the little room off your own. It is 
vacant. She will be a companion for you.” 

The good woman inclined her head and left the 
room. The new servant proved an apt scholar. 
She deftly fulfilled her duties at the table, and 
called forth encomiums of praise from Mr. Dupont. 
Her sad, beautiful face won Alicia over to her, and, 
before the meal was finished, they all liked her. 

“ She’ll prove a treasure,” remarked Mr. Dupont, 
as he came from the table. In ten minutes he had 
left the house. 

The morning was passed by Mrs. Abbott in 
instructing the new servant in her duties. By noon 
the sad-faced unfortunate one had possession of 
the keys, and the costly silverware was at her 
mercy. 

After lunch, Mrs. Abbott showed the woman to 
her room, a neat little apartment adjoining her 
own. 

“ I feel that I shall be so happy here,” murmured 

The Runaway Wife 10 


146 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


the hypocrite, looking about the cozy apartment; 
“ you are all so kind to me.” 

“ We will try to make you comfortable,” an- 
swered kind Mrs. Abbott. “ If you desire, you 
can remain here for an hour or so. There is not 
much to be done this afternoon.” 

Betty thanked her, and the housekeeper left her 
alone. Now was her opportunity to speak to 
Greenleaf, if she could but let him know that she 
was alone. He must be in the house somewhere. 
So she silently crept down the stairs. The sound 
of music attracted her attention. It came from the 
drawing-room; the door was slightly ajar; she 
crept to it and looked in. With a gasp, she fell 
back. She saw the young girl, Alicia, at the 
piano; her white hands were gently touching the 
keys; a smile of love was upon her beautiful face, 
a tender look in her eyes, while, standing by her 
side, was the wretch who had been the cause of 
all her crime, bending over the fair one, whisper- 
ing words of love into her ear. She went to her 
room. Sitting upon the edge of the bed, she -gave 
herself up to thought. So, this was what Albert 
Greenleaf was doing — imposing upon the kindly 
man who had proven a friend to him, leading the 
innocent child on to her ruin perhaps (and the 
thought drives her wild); perhaps she had already 
fallen a victim to his seductive wiles. She arose 
from the bed, and paced the floor of her room 
excitedly. How can she put a stop to this? for 
she had determined to let this girl know the char- 


AN INTERVIEW 1 47 

acter of the man; but how can she do so without 
revealing her own baseness. 

A soft rap at the door aroused her; she opened it. 
Albert Greenleaf brushed past her. 

“ I heard you come up-stairs; I thought per- 
haps you might be alone,” he said. 

“ I am alone,” she murmured; “ I am glad you 
have come. ” 

“ You will answer my question of this morning?” 

“ Yes; you will also explain.” 

“ That is easily done; I was forced to seek 
employment; a chance offered itself here; I took 
advantage of it; I am the present tutor of the 
young man Harold.” 

“ And the girl ? ” 

“ Ah, I teach her music.” 

“ Nothing else! ” sharply. 

“ What are you driving at? ” 

“ You are well versed in the art of love-making; 
I did not know but what you were also giving her 
some instructions in that.” 

He flushed. 

“ No,” he answered; “ I am no fool; she is 
charming, and all that, but my position is worth 
too much to me to ruin it by any act of indiscre- 
tion.” 

“ You are growing wiser with age.” 

“ I hope so; but you have not explained.” 

“ I, also, have been compelled to work; I 
answered an advertisement I saw in the Herald 
this morning; I secured the place.” 


148 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


She had spoken quietly; a sneer came to his 

iip. 

“ So you have given up counterfeiting, and sim- 
ilar evils,” he said. “ The papers were full of your 
escapades for a while.” 

“ Who drove me to it? ” she asked, fiercely. 

“ I suppose you think I did.” 

“ Your cruelty and desertion brought it about.” 

“ We won’t argue that point; I heard you had 
gone back to Drumley. ” 

“ Yes; I did.” 

“ I was surprised to hear of him being in the 
United States.” 

“ Perhaps you were more than surprised.” 

“ No; I do not fear him.” 

“ It will not be well for you if he runs across 
you.” 

“ I can protect myself; but why did you leave 
him again? ” 

“ Do you think I could live with him, after all 
the wrong I have done him? ” 

“ I should hardly think your life would be a 
pleasant one,” carelessly. 

“ It was not; for that reason I left him.” 

“ Perhaps you acted for the best; it is rather 
unfortunate that we are sheltered by the same 
roof.” 

“ Why? ” quietly. 

“ It may arouse the memories of the past. ” 

She laughed bitterly. 

“ You mean I may grow to love you again? ” 

“ Yes.” 


AN INTERVIEW 


149 


“ You need not give yourself any uneasiness on 
that score; I have buried my love for you; I only 
hate and despise you now. ” 

“ Harsh words, Betty.” 

" But true ones.” 

Neither of them spoke for some time. Finally 
he said: 

“ I suppose my secret is safe with you? ” 

“ You are afraid I may ruin your plans? ” signifi- 
cantly. 

“ I have no plans, save a desire to keep my 
situation.” 

“ Are you telling the truth? ” 

“ What plans could T have? ” 

She looked him in the face. “ Albert Greenleaf,” 
she said, deliberately, “ I know you; I thoroughly 
understand the utter baseness of your soul, the 
blackness of your heart. You have some plan, I 
know it; I discovered it by accident; I saw you 
with the fair girl who is the idol of her old father’s 
heart. Not over an hour ago, you were standing by 
her side, ostensibly givifrg her a music lesson, but 
you were, teaching her something far more danger- 
ous than that, you were teaching her how to love. 
Do not attempt to deny me; I saw you, I know the 
power of your oily tongue too well to my heart’s 
bitter sorrow. She was listening to your honeyed 
words, with eyes that shone with love. You are 
■working for that girl’s ruin, Albert Greenleaf ; per- 
haps have already accomplished it.” 

She stopped. The man had turned pale, then 
red. His eyes flashed ominously, but he controlled 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


150 

himself with an effort, and answered : " You are 
wrong, Betty. True, I will admit that I take pleas- 
ure in the society of this girl, she is so innocent, 
so childlike; but, as for trying to do her wrong, that 
is nonsense. As I said before, I am no fool. I 
appreciate my position.” 

“ When burning passion eats at our vitals, 
we forget caution, we throw discretion to the 
winds, she is a woman, has a woman’s heart and 
a woman’s passion. It is dangerous for any 
one of the sex to remain long in your com- 
pany; they could not long hold out against you. 
When I saw you bending over that girl to-day, 
when I observed with terror the look in her eyes, 
my heart filled with pity. I determined to save 
her. I will.” 

“ You had better not meddle in things that do 
not concern you,” he cried, angrily. 

“ Ah ! you have revealed to me the truth in your 
anger. I know, now, that you are trying to ensnare 
this girl. ” 

' “ You are jealous,” sneering. 

“ You lie ; I am not jealous. I am but a woman. 
Base as I am, I have a heart. I will not stand by 
and see a pure, innocent creature brought down to 
my level. You must cease your attention to this 
girl. Teach her music — nothing more. Do not 
linger in her society ; your presence is contaminat- 
ing, dangerous for her honor and virtue.” 

“ You flatter me.” 

“ I know you.” 


AN INTERVIEW 


151 


“ You speak as if you had the right to command. 
Suppose I refuse to do as you bid? ” 

“ Then, shall I go to the father, and tell him the 
character of the man he is harboring, of the snake 
he is warming in his breast, the viper who will 
arouse and sting him.” 

“ Bah ! If you do this, you will only damage 
yourself. You will be obliged to reveal all your 
past life, show yourself to him as Elizabeth or 
Betty Drumley, the runaway wife, the lewd woman, 
the companion of thieves and counterfeiters. He 
has read all about you in the papers. I have seen 
him shudder when he has read of your heartless 
depravity. He has pity for your husband — only 
loathing and horror for you. No ; I hardly think 
you will care to do this. You are no fool.” 

With a feeling of sickening horror, she heard his 
words.. Yes ; it would be as he had said. If she 
attempted to thwart him, to save this young girl, 
she would only ruin herself ; she would be turned 
out of the house. She must adopt another plan. 
But why should she trouble herself with this girl, 
who, perhaps, would not even thank her for her 
interference. She was there to rob, as the accom- 
plice of thieves. Why should she mix herself up 
in this affair? She hardened her heart. 

Alicia Dupont, with her sunny, smiling face and 
flaxen hair, was banished from her mind. She 
jwas there to prey upon mankind, not to save any 
!of them from destruction. No; let the villain con- 
tinue in his devilish work; it was no affair of hers. 


152 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


He had ruined her; let him continue to debase 
those who came in contact with him. 

“ You have spoken truly,” she said at last, in a 
hard, metallic tone. “ You have shown me wherein 
I have made a mistake; I shall not meddle with 
your schemes. Go, carry them on; you keep my 
secret, I’ll keep yours.” 

“ Do you mean it? ” springing forward. 

“ I never speak idly; you should know this. I 
have thought the matter over. I cannot afford to 
ruin myself, even to bring you down with me. 
Go! leave me.” 

With an evil smile, he turned and left the room, 
while she fell forward upon her face and sobbed 
bitterly. A woman, after all; she shed a woman's 
tears! 

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE SERPENT’S STING. 

After dusk Elizabeth Drumley left the house, 
ostensibly for the purpose of arranging for the 
bringing of her trunks, but in reality to meet Joe 
and tell him of the success she had met with. 

She found him at home clad in smoking-jacket 
and slippers, his feet, higher than his head, resting 
on the mantel. 

He welcomed her boisterously. 

“ What luck? ” he cried, as soon as she had 
become seated. 


THE SERPENT’S STING 153 

She told him all, reserving the fact of her meet- 
ing with Greenleaf. 

“ And you have the keys of the plate closet? ”he 
cried. 

She drew the bunch of keys from her pocket, and 
shook them before his face. 

“ Well, if you ain’t a good one,” he gasped, in 
admiration. “ If you don’t play in the greatest 
luck of anyone I ever saw or heard tell of. Just to 
think, only a few hours in the house and holding 
the keys. ” 

She blushed under his words. 

“ They have confidence in me on account of my 
tender care given my poor father,” with a light 
laugh. 

“ That was a good gag; it always arouses sym- 
pathy. Nothing like sympathy to work a sucker. 
But how about the entrance? Can we get in with- 
out trouble? ” 

“ Of course; I will admit you.” 

“ I know that; but I thought perhaps some one 
would be around to queer us, some footman or 
butler sleeping near.” 

“ They all have rooms up-stairs except the coach- 
man; he sleeps above the stable, he and the 
groom.” 

“ Then, everything is as nice as pie. We have 
only to walk in, collar the stuff, and walk out.” 

“ That’s all.” 

“ Not such a bad scheme, after all,” blowing a 
cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. 

“ You’ll find lots of others just like this. Per-* 


154 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


haps you won’t be lucky enough to get hold of the 
keys in all of them; but I’d trust you to work any 
of them.” 

“ You do me proud,” she murmured. 

“ There’s English for you,” he laughed. “ I never 
heard an American say anything like that. ” 

“ I sometimes make use of English expressions,” 
she said. 

She remained with him for two hours. During 
that time they arranged for the robbery. It was 
to take place the following night, when every one 
had retired. She was to open the basement door, 
and admit Joe and a companion. They were to 
remove the plate, having a horse and buggy near 
to carry it off. Then she was to leave the door 
open, as if it had been carelessly neglected by the 
man who locked up the house, and go to bed. In 
the morning the robbery would be discovered, the 
plate closet found broken open (they were to do 
that to divert attention from her), and, in a day or 
so, the letter would reach her from the supposed 
uncle. She did not fear Greenleaf’s suspicions. 
He would keep a close mouth (even if he should 
have any suspicions), and then for another unsuspi- 
cious household to prey upon. 

It was past eleven o’clock as she entered the 
house of her employer. As she passed the draw- 
ing-room, she heard a faint noise, the sound of 
some one conversing in whispers. She did not 
stop to look in. She had her suspicions as to who 
it was that sought the solitude of the dark draw- 
ing-room when the family and servants were in bed. 


THE SERPENT’S STING 


155 


But she had made up her mind not to meddle in 
this affair, and so silently crept up the stairs to her 
room. She was aroused at seven o’clock by Mrs. 
Abbott. For a moment she could not understand 
why she must get up, but it all came to her. She 
was a servant, and must begin the duties of the 
day. She waited upon the table, silent, carrying 
out her role perfectly. Greenleaf was there, calm, 
nonchalant, showing no sign of guilt or an uneasy 
conscience. If he possessed such a thing, he had it 
under complete control. 

The day dragged along. Twilight, then night 
came — destined to be an eventful night to all the 
members of that peaceful household. At two 
o’clock Horace Dupont laid aside the evening 
paper, yawned, looked at his watch, and started 
for his bed-room. Harold and Alicia had kissed 
their father and gone up-stairs an hour before. 
Greenleaf had gone out; he had not returned. 
Betty was in her room, waiting for the house to 
become quiet, before going down-stairs to fulfill 
her part in the contemplated robbery. At last all 
was quiet. She heard the clocks strike eleven, 
then twelve. Surely, every one must be in their 
beds at this hour. 

She silently crept down the stairs, down to the 
basement. She unlocked the door, and then sat 
down to wait. 

She had not long to wait. In a short time she 
heard stealthy footsteps outside; the next moment 
Joe stood before her. 

He slipped on a mask and a pair of rubber shoes 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


156 

before going up-stairs; his companion, a rough- 
looking fellow, a typical burglar, doing the same. 

w Now, Betty, lead on; we will follow thee,” 
whispered Joe, dramatically. 

She silently crept up the basement stairs, up into 
the hall, the two men after her. 

She opened the door, and pointed to the plate 
closet. Slipping the key into the outstretched 
hand of her partner in sin, he noiselessly crossed 
the room, and in a few moments was transferring 
the heavy silverware to a large-mouthed cloth 
sack, which he carried. 

Suddenly Betty gave a slight cry. 

“What’s the matter?” whispered Joe, pausing for 
an instant. 

“ I thought I heard some one inserting a key in 
the front door.” 

u Guess you imagine it,” replied Joe. 

No. Plainly to the ears of the trio came the un- 
mistakable sound of a key being turned in a lock. 

“ By God, you’re right,” cried the burglar, in a 
tone of alarm, speaking in a subdued voice, how- 
ever. 

“ I will go see who it is,” whispered the woman. 
“ I can explain my presence down-stairs. You 
hide yourselves in the closet. I will keep the per- 
son out of the room. ” 

“ Go ahead,” whispered Joe. She crossed the 
dining-room and opened the door. She stood face 
to face with Albert Greenleaf. 

The meeting was so sudden, so unexpected, 
that both of them fell back in astonishment. She 


THE SERPENT’S STING I 57 

had thought him in bed; did not know of his ab- 
sence that night. He was surprised to see her 
down-stairs, coming from the dining-room at such 
an hour. 

Suddenly the thought flashed through his mind, 
that she had the keys of the plate closet. She had 
been the companion of thieves. She might be 
arranging to make off with the silverware. 

“ What are you doing here at this time of night? ” 
he demanded, hoarsely, seizing her wrist. 

“ Unhand me,” she replied, angrily. " It is none 
of your business.” She broke away from him, and 
stood before the door. Neither one of them noticed 
that the door of the drawing-room was ajar. 

“ By God, I’ll make it my business,” he cried. 
“ There’s some crooked work going on here, Betty 
Drumley, and you have a hand in it. Stand aside 
from that door.” 

“ Hear me, Albert Greenleaf, I agreed yesterday 
not to meddle in your affairs. I told you that you 
could carry on your plots, and ruin that innocent 
girl if you so desired without interference from me. 
I promised to keep secret the fact that you were 
the man who had persuaded a virtuous wife to 
leave her family and flee with you. You agreed 
on your part not to meddle with me. I demand 
that you keep your word. Go up-stairs to your 
room, and allow me to manage my own affairs. It 
will be better for you,” she hissed. 

“ Stand aside from that door.” 

“ 111 see you burning in h — 11, where you belong, 
first!” 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


158 

“ Betty Drumley, for the last time. ” 

“ No; ” defiantly. 

He sprang toward her, and immediately recoiled; 
she had drawn a small revolver from her pocket, 
and was covering him with it; with a snarl of 
anger, he grasped her wrist, the next moment the 
revolver went spinning along the hall; it fell before 
the half-open door of the drawing-room. 

A white-robed figure, with a horrified face, and 
flowing, flaxen hair swept out of the room, and 
picked it up. 

The man, exercising his strength, threw the pant- 
ing, struggling woman from the door of the dining- 
room; she staggered, and fell back in the hall, 
while Greenleaf, with an air of triumph, opened 
the door, and entered the dining-room. 

With a cry of anger, Betty struggled to her feet; 
as she turned to follow the man, the slender figure 
of the girl Alicia confronted her; she uttered a cry 
of horror as she saw the look on the girl’s face; 
the blue eyes were hard and cold, the sweet face 
set. 

“ Tell me,” she said; “ you are Betty Drumley? ” 

“Yes; God help me, I am.” 

“ And Albert Greenleaf is the man who en- 
ticed you from your home and husband? ” 

“Yes; curse him! He is the demon who be- 
trayed me.” 

“ Are you telling the truth? ” 

“ As God is my judge. ” 

“Then, Heaven help me,” wailed the girl. “I 
am lost, lost!” She fell forward upon her face. 


THE SERPENT’S STING 


159 


The guilty, sinful woman essayed to raise her. 

“ Let me be,” moaned the girl. “ Do not touch 
me. Oh, God, you are a stained criminal; but I 
am as bad.” 

Elizabeth Drumley fell back and grasped the 
baluster for support. 

“ He has betrayed you, ruined you ! ” she 
gasped. 

“Yes; I am lost.” 

Suddenly she rose to her feet; a look of awful 
determination upon her beautiful face. Wildly she" 
glanced around the hall; then, springing forward, 
she pressed her lips to her father’s hat, which was 
hanging upon the hall-tree, and cried: 

“ Lost, but not beyond the power of redemp- 
tion; farewell, father; God forgive me.” 

The sharp crack of a pistol, and Alicia Dupont — 
fair, sweet, beautiful — lay a corpse upon the floor 
of the hall, while the sinful wretch who had wit- 
nessed the deed, never dreaming of the girl’s inten- 
tion, gave vent to a scream of agony, and fell to 
the floor. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A HORRIBLE FATALITY. 

The sounds of a struggle in the dining-room, 
foot-steps on the stairs, aroused her. She rose to 
her feet. At the same moment Joe burst into the 
hall, his mask torn from his face, breathless and 
pale. He was followed by his companion. 


l60 THE RUNAWAY WIFE 

“ I’ve knocked that gent silly, ” he cried. " Come, 
Bet! we’ll have to skip, and lively, too.” 

They hurried to the front door; Joe, stepping 
over the corpse of the beautiful girl, seeming not 
to notice it. 

His brutal companion even planted his boot on 
the long, golden hair. 

“Stop!” thundered a stern voice from the 
stairs. 

With a curse, Bowery Joe turned. His female 
copartner uttered a cry of terror. 

With stern, piercing eyes, clad only in his night 
robe, Horace Dupont stood, half way down the 
stairs, covering the fleeing burglar with a shining 
revolver. 

“ Another step, and I’ll fire,” he continued. 

The burglar, who had been standing near the 
dead form of Alicia, gave a snarl of rage. 

“ This job is good for ten years if we’re nabbed,” 
he growled. 

“ By God! The house is aroused. I’ll settle 
this.” 

Before Joe or Betty were aware of his intention, 
he had drawn a revolver — a deliberate aim, a sharp 
report, and Horace Dupont, noble man, loving 
father, fell with a wail of mortal anguish dead 
beside his child. 

“ Now git, damn ye! ” shouted the murderer. 

Out into the street flew the burglars; Betty, too 
horrified to speak. To think, but a few hours 
before, this family had been happy, joyful; now 
sorrow, crime, had left its mark. The father mur- 


A HORRIBLE FATALITY l6l 

dered, the child ruined, lost — a suicide. And all 
through her. What a wretch she is! What a low, 
despicable thing! They were speeding along the 
street; soon they would have been in safety. The 
buggy hired^ to carry off the plunder, was in 
sight; but, at that moment, two officers, patrolling 
their beats, turned the corner. The next, Bowery 
Joe and Reddy the tough were struggling in their 
firm clutch. 

“ No use, boys. We’ve got you,” cried one of 
the officers. “ You don’t wear gum shoes in sum- 
mer time for nothing. Crooks, as sure as shoot- 
ing.” 

“ Wasn’t there a woman with you? ” asked the 
other. 

“ No; we were alone,” replied Joe, faithful to the 
woman, even at the last. 

They were conducted to the central station. 

‘ And the woman; the guilty, blood-stained queen 
of the crooks, the erring wife of Joseph Drumley — 
she had reached the buggy; lashing the horse, she 
had reached a place of safety. She knew her com- 
panions had been arrested, and nervously expected 
every minute to bring an^fficer to conduct her to 
prison. But the night dragged through, no imper- 
ative summons sounded upon her ears. Perhaps 
she was safe. But how long? When she tried to 
sleep, the beautiful, pale face of Alicia Dupont 
appeared to her, with eyes of stony despair, point- 
ing to a ghastly wound in her forehead. As she 
looked, the blood gushed forth and covered her. 
She could feel it, warm and horrible, suffocating 

The Runaway Wife il 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


162 

her. She awoke with a scream. It was only a 
dream. She lay awake, her eyes roving the ceil- 
ing; her mind went back to the vine-covered inn 
at dear old Todmorden. She seemed to hear her 
children’s voices as they called her in their quaint, 
childish dialect. 

“ Mither, aw love '00,” she could hear her 
boy, her pride in the olden days, saying. How 
her conscience upbraided her, how she suffered, 
none can tell. 

At daybreak she rose; mechanically she prepared 
her breakfast and ate it. Then she dressed herself 
plainly. Her hair she parted and put back behind 
her ears, the way she used to wear it when a wife, 
a true woman. Then she went out upon the street, 
placing a plain hat upon her head. 

The newsboys were making a harvest. Never 
had Chicago had such a sensation. She purchased 
a paper, and read the account of the fearful night’s 
work. She saw the account of the arrest, the 
housekeeper’s story, and yes — her own name in 
connection with it. Who could have furnished 
this information? She read further. Ah, she 
knew now Albert Greenleaf had put the officers 
upon her track. The paper stated that both of 
the captured men would probably hang. They 
had committed the double murder (for it was sup- 
posed that the g':rl had been murdered), and would 
receive their just due. 

And she! she, too, would suffer imprisonment, 
perhaps death, if discovered. She must not be 
captured! She has determined upon a plan to 


RETRIBUTION 


163 

defeat justice. A hard smile crosses her lips as 
she thinks of it, and then she turns toward the 
river. She will not throw herself from the bridge. 
No, not that; she might be rescued. She must 
not be saved; he has determined upon a plan, 
and, with a quick, almost joyous step, hurries along 
to put it into execution. She had determined to 
defeat justice; she was a clever woman, and would 
carry out her plan. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

RETRIBUTION. 

If ever man deserved happiness in this world, 
surely Joe Drumley did. Loyal to his wife through 
the bitterest of trials, kind, generous and charitable, 
despite her manifold sins and wickedness, brave 
and chivalrous and cheerful under harrowing misfor- 
tunes, his path in life should have been strewn 
with roses instead of thorns, blessings instead of 
blighting blasts. 

The convolutions of destiny are often sad and 
bewildering, and never was this truism better illus- 
trated than in the case of honest Joe Drumley, the 
Yorkshire publican. 

He staggered rather than walked from the 
presence-of his wife. The blow was a cruel one, 
and life seemed black and dismal as a funeral pall. 
His head was dizzy, and he rambled aimlessly 
away from the boarding-house like one in a dream. 

Unco nsciously he sought the corner of Lake and 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


164 

Clark streets. Officer O’Donnell saw his odd-look- 
ing hat off in the distance, and was ready with a 
hearty greeting for his friend; but Drumley’s sor- 
row-drawn face checked the words on his lips. 

“ It’s all over, lad,” said Drumley, mournfully 
answering the mute inquiry in Simon’s eyes; 
“ Betty’s lost again! ” 

" What! ” cried the officer, in amazement. 

" Yes, lad; it was nobbut a dream, and aw’m 
awaak noo. 

Honest Simon O’Donnell looked as if he could 
scarcely credit what he had heard. 

“ You don’t mean to tell me your wife has left 
you again? ” he cried. 

“ Aye. Laift me. Gone ta ta de’l, Simon. 
She ha bruk ma haart. God ’elp me.” 

The man’s anguish was so heartrending that tears 
gathered in the eyes of the kindly policeman. 

“ She may return,” he ventured. 

“ Naw; she’ll ne'er caum back. Her hairt bees 
yearning for ta glitter an’ tinsel o’ crime. She’ll 
ne’er come back.” 

He turned sadly, and left the spot. O’Donnell 
watched him out of sight. Then, turning, he 
muttered, while wiping the moisture from his eyes: 

“ Damn such a woman ! she’d be better off in her 
grave. He loves her yet. Instead of cursing her, 
he mourns for her. Well, it takes all kinds to make 
up a world.” 

The weeks passed by. Drumley had not been 
to see his friend since the day he brought him the 
mournful tidings of his wife’s return to a life of sin. 


RETRIBUTION 1 65 

He had begun to think that his friend had left the 
city. 

Upon the morning following the tragedy in the 
Dupont family the officer was standing at his post. 
He was horrified at the utter depravity of the 
woman as revealed by the morning papers — a 
crook of the lowest order — a companion and 
co-partner in crime of Bowery Joe and that brute 
“ Reddy the Tough. ” He was thinking it all over, 
when, upon glancing up, he saw Drumley approach- 
ing him, his homely face white and horrified, his 
hair unkempt. He was holding a paper in his 
hands. 

“ Poor fellow, he knows it all,” muttered Simon. 

The next moment the Yorkshireman was by his 
side. 

“ See, Simon! ” he cried, in a broken, horrified 
voice; “ see wha’ she ha’ coom ta. Aw’m nur des- 
tract. Aw burglar, a murderess, mayhap. Who 
knows bu’ wha’ she fired t’ shot wha’ killed de gairl. 
Oh, ’tis ’orrible. And Greenleaf, he, t’skuilmaister, 
he told it all. ” 

“ Is Greenleaf, the witness in this case, the same 
who led her astray? ” 

“ Ta same ” 

But, great God! Does ta see 'urn? ” 

“See who?” asked ODonnell, alarmed at the 
fierce expression which suddenly overshadowed the 
man’s face. 

“ ’Urn!” muttered Drumley, between his teeth, 
pointing to a slim, young man with a blase, cynical 


*66 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


smile on his handsome face, who was walking north 
on Clark street. “ It’s t’ skulemaister! ” 

“ Hold on, Joe, ” exclaimed O’Donnell, as 
Drumley was rushing toward the man with a sav- 
age gleam in his eyes; “ don’t do anything rash.” 

“Never fear, mon,” cried Joe; “ aw ’ll be calm 
enu’; but he’s got to see me.” 

Greenleaf had passed them by this time. Drum- 
ley overtook him on the bridge, and, tapping him 
on the shoulder, said, quietly: 

“ Mr. Greenleaf, aw’ve got summat to say to 
thee.” 

A look of alarm overspread the young man’s 
face, as he turned and recognized Drumley. 

“ You’ll have to excuse me,” he stammered ; 
“ I’ve business ” 

* An* aw’ve got business,” interrupted the York- 
shireman, fiercely, “ an’ ma business is wi* thee. 
We’ll walk doon to th’ lakeTront; we cannot settle 
our business here.” 

Greenleaf saw Drumley was in dead earnest, and 
would stand no parley. The situation was an 
uncomfortable one, but the young man, whatever 
his other faults, was no coward, and he gritted his 
teeth together, and took the direction indicated by 
the wronged husband. 

Neither spoke a word till they were at a lonely 
spot near the foot of Rush street. Here they 
stopped, as if by mutual agreement, and confronted 
each other. 

“ Mr. Greenleaf,” began Drumley, his features 
hard set, and his voice thick, and not without a 


RETRIBUTION 


I67 

painful tremor, " at one taime aw’ thawt tha a 
gentleman. Tha cam to ma hoose, eat at ma 
taable, and aw treated tha laike a brother, and hoo 
did tha repay me? Tha whispered soft words to 
ma lass, poisoned her maind wa’ tha glittering lees, 
got her to leave her bairns and me; and then, 
when tha wor tired of her, flung her off laike a 
spoiled plaything. What has tha to saay for tha- 
sen? ” 

“ Why, Mr. Drumley,” said the young man, in a 
half apologetic strain, “ that is all past and gone. 
I acted foolishly, I confess, but perhaps I was not 
wholly to blame.” 

“ Past and gone,” echoed the Yorkshireman, in 
the same thick tones; “ it maay be for thee, but not 
for me. Acted foolishly! Aw tell thee to tha 
faace th’art as dommed a skoondrel as ivver lived. 
And noo that aw’ve fawnd tha, aw’m goin’ to pay 
tha for aril ma neets and daays o’ misery. Get tha- 
sen ready! ” 

Drumley drew himself up in fighting posture, his 
eyes blazing with concentrated hatred. 

Greenleaf, thoroughly scared by the man’s bellig- 
erent attitude, cried: 

“ You surely won’t murder me, Drumley? ” 

“ Naw, aw woan’t murder tha,” he responded, 
fiercely. “ Aw’ll gi’ thee a fightin’ chance for tha 
life. Up with tha hands loike a man! ” 
j The young man drew a pistol from his hip 
j pocket, and shouted: 

1 “ Keep back, or I’ll shoot! ” 

“ Shoot! tha white-livered scoundrel,” cried 


i68 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


Drumley, rushing upon him like a mad bull, and 
wresting the pistol from his hand. “ Shoot! Tha’s 
learned some pretty tricks sin’ tha quit pot-hooks 
and hangers.” 

He threw the pistol away, and again commanded 
Greenleaf to put up his hands. Stung to madness, 
the whilom schoolmaster threw himself into a 
defensive attitude, and they were soon at each 
other, hammer and tongs. 

There was not much science in the fight. No 
time was wasted in useless sparring. It was to be 
a fight to the finish. 

The contest was equal in several respects. 
Greenleaf had proven himself quite a boxer in his 
college days, and he had youth and activity on his 
side. But Drumley had a just quarrel to back him, 
and a fist like a sledge-hammer, and the strength 
of a giant in his wrath. 

Blows rained fast and furious for several minutes; 
but, finally, the Yorkshireman struck Greenleaf a 
terrific blow under the left ear, and he dropped limp 
and lifeless on the ground. 

“ That settles ’im,” said Drumley, in a harsh, 
grim voice, as he turned to leave the scene of con- 
flict; “ aw thowt it would be ma faate to kill ’um, 
and aw’m glad it’s dune.” 

He had not gone a dozen paces before a police- 
man, who had been quietly enjoying the mill at a 
distance, but who was alarmed by its fatal termina- 
tion, arrested him, and took him to the North Side 
station. 

Drumley said not a word, but there was a grim 


THE END OF A SHAMELESS LIFE 1 69 

feeling of pleasure in his heart when they locked 
him in a cell. 

Next day the Yorkshireman was arraigned for 
manslaughter. He offered no plea in justification,' 
but his story was soon made public, and was the 
sensation of the day. He was held to the criminal 
court. The day of trial soon came, but the jury 
acquitted him without leaving their seats. 

His wife, the woman for whom he suffered so 
much, and who spurned the love of his manly, 
generous heart, never visited him or sent him a 
line of condolence. She disappeared on the night 
of the fatal fight at the lake front, and was never 
heard of more. 

Joe Drumley, looking ten years older than on the 
day he made the acquaintance of Simon O’Donnell, 
went back to his children and the old Crown Inn 
at Todmorden, the victim of a love, which, instead 
of making his life happy and joyful, shriveled up 
his big, manly heart, and made of him a cynic 
under whose biting words many a Todmorden 
townsman writhes to this very day. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE END OF A SHAMELESS LIFE. 

One of the many steamers which ply between 
Chicago and the lake ports was crowded with pas- 
sengers this particular day. The lake traffic was a 
profitable one during the summer season, many 
people preferring the easy-riding steamer* free from 


170 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


dust and with room to walk about, with the privi- 
lege of reaping the benefit to be derived from the 
fresh breezes of the lake, to the hot, dusty, uncom- 
fortable ride upon the cars. So the steamer was 
crowded. Aged couples, who had been visiting in 
the city, were returning home. Young people, 
perhaps but recently wed, were starting upon their 
bridal tour, to enjoy their honeymoon in the quiet 
seclusion of the country — upon a farm, perhaps, 
where nature held her fairest gifts in store for them, 
where butter is a certainty, the product of the cow, 
and eggs are in reality the fruit of the domestic 
fowl. 

Upon the upper deck, a band of itinerant musi- 
cians, consisting of two violinists, a flutist and harp 
player, were rendering wild, pathetic music such as 
only the Italian, with his black, dreamy eyes and 
velvet coat, can draw from his instrument. The 
eyes of the harpist were roving about among the 
passengers. Perhaps he was trying to guess which 
one among that throng would prove the most gen- 
erous when the time came to pass around the hat. 

A plainly dressed woman, whose pale, anxious 
face bore the traces of a rare beauty, sat near the 
rail. Her eyes were fixed upon the musicians. 
She seemed to be drinking in the pathetic strains; 
they were playing the then popular song of “ The 
Gypsy’s Warning,” a sweetly pathetic melody. 
The words of the song came to her; she uncon- 
sciously murmured them, as she sat, hearing the 
sounds of the music. Tears gathered in her eyes; 
the memory of a low, sweet voice which had led 


THE END OF A SHAMELESS LIFE 17 1 

her from the path of duty, came to her. And she 
had trusted him. “ Trust him not, oh, gentle lady,” 
wailed the violin. Ah! it was too late. It would 
soon be over. The music stopped; when the half- 
grown boy who officiated as collector came to her, 
she emptied the contents of her purse into his hat. 

He looked at her with blank amazement de- 
picted upon his face. The lady must be mad to 
thus throw away her money. 

“ Take it all; you are welcome to it,” she mur- 
mured. “ I shall not need it where I am going.” 

He thanked her, and continued his round. The 
purse contained nearly fifty dollars, a good day’s 
work for these dusky wanderers; the passengers 
were all happy; satisfied with life, and what it 
brought them; laughing, chatting, exchanging 
jokes. 

Suddenly the harpist sprang forward, but too 
late; he had seen the generous lady arise from her 
seat, cast a furtive glance around her, and then, 
with a rapid movement, step upon the rail; he had 
started forward to prevent her from taking the 
fatal step; too late! A splash in the water, and 
the sad, beautiful face disappeared beneath the 
waters of Lake Michigan. 

The passengers hurried to and fro; the ladies 
screamed, the men turned pale. 

They stopped the steamer at last, a boat was 
lowered; but they had gone some distance; no 
chance of saving this reckless one; she had willfully 
gone to her death; they could not bring her back 
to the life which had been so ruthlessly cast away. 


172 


THE RUNAWAY WIFE 


The steamer proceeded upon its way. 

A week later a darty of men found the body of 
a woman lying upon the shore. They approached 
it. The face was horribly disfigured, probably by 
the fishes. There was nothing by which she could 
be identified, no article of value; in fact, no 
article of any description, either in the pockets or 
upon the person, save an old-fashioned daguerreo- 
type portrait. 

They gazed upon it. The smiling face of a 
child looked up from the frame. 

“ Perhaps she was the mother of the child,” said 
one. 

“ Perhaps.” 

The body of the unfortunate was buried in the 
village churchyard, the portrait placed between 
the bloated, water-soaked and disfigured fingers. 

Who she was, where she came from, remains a 
mystery to this day. 

Perchance some one of my readers could throw 
some light upon this mystery. But, as she died 
carrying her secret to the grave with her, so will 
we, dear reader, keep it locked in our breasts. A 
romantic young man in the village painted a plain 
board to mark her grave. Upon it he lettered the 
couplet, from the “ Bridge of Sighs; ” 

“ One more unfortunate, 

Weary of breath, 

Rashly importunate, 

Gone to her death. ” 


THE END. 


The Pinkerton Detective S er ies. 


I N issuing these Detective Novels, the publishers have been careful to put out 
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THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS; or, An American Detec- 
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JOSEPH PRICKETT, the Scotland Yard Detective By Inspector Murray 

JIM CUMMINGS; or, The Great Adams Express Robbery.. By A. F. Pinkerton 

A LIFE FOR A LIFE; or, The Detective’s Triumph By A. F. Pinkerton 

A WOMAN’S REVENGE; or, The Creole’s Crime By Myron Pinkerton 

THE SEVERED HEAD; or, A Terrible Confession By F. Du Boisgobey 

THE STOLEN WILL: or, The Rokewood Tragedy By Myron Pinkerton 

FILE No. *14; a Sequel to File 113 By Emile Gaboriau 

FRED BENNETT, The Mormon Detective By U. S. Marshal Bennett 

SAVED AT THE SCAFFOLD; or, Nio Brown, The Chicago 

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$5,000 REWARD; or, Cornered At Last By A. F. Pinkerton 

LINK BY LINK; or, The Chain of Evidence By Nathan D. Urner 

TRACKED TO DEATH; or, Eagle Gray, the Western Detec- 
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DETECTIVE ACAINST DETECTIVE; or, A Great Con- 
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A CRIMINAL QUEEN; or, TheFatal Shot By Ernest A. Young 

MARKE-D FOR LIFE; or, The Gambler’s Fate By A. F. Pinkerton 

DYKE DARREL, The Railroad Detective; or, The Crime of 

the Midnight Express By A. F. Pinkbrton 

A SHARP NIGHT’S WORK By James Franklin Fitts 

THE DETECTIVE’S SECRET By Nathan D. Uknhr 

MANACLE AND BRACELET By Edmund C. Strong 

THE GREAT CRONIN MYSTERY; or, The Irish Patriot’s 

Fate By A Chicago Detective 

MEXICAN BILL, The Cowboy Detective By “ Nevada Nbd” 

A PRIVATE DETECTIVE: The Marvelous Career of a Noto- 
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THE ROBBER KING: Thrilling Episode in a Career of 

Crime By Detective Patrick Tyrell, of the Chicago Police 

THE ICEPOND MYSTERY, The Startling Story of a Terri- 

rible Crime By Lieut. Joseph Kiplst, of the Chicago Police 

THE RUNAWAY WIFE; or, Love and Vengeance. .By Captain Simon O’Don- 
; nell, of the Chicago Police. . 

A DARING HORSE THIEF.. By Detective Pat’k Ryan, of the Chicago Poliee 
THE ONE-HANDED BURGLAR; or, The Tragic Fate of a 

Desperate Criminal By Lieut. Edward Laughlin, of the Chicago Pottoe 

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honest Postal Clerk. By James E. Stewart, Chief Inspector Post Office Dep’t 
THE STOLEN LACES; an Episode in the History of Chi- 

csLgo Crime By Dents Simmons, Es-Chiaf of the Chicago Police 


led covers, and a»e 
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803-205 Jackson St. CHICAGO, ILL. 


THE DREAM. 

By RMILaR. ZOLA. 


Only Authorized American Edition. Translated from the French by 
E. de V. Vermont 


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Rather more romantic than most of his stories, this deserves attentive study 
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LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, 

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From the Beaten Path 


By EDWARD R. ROE , 


Author of “ May and June,** *' Brought to Bay,** etc. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


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“ It is well written and interesting.” — The School Journal , New York. 

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. “ It is bright and vigorous and its characters full of originality, and will 

amply repay those who secure it.” — Albany Union Review. 


Price, in Paper Covers cents ; bound in Extra English Silk 
Cloth, Embossed on side and back in Ink and Gold. 

Sent by mail on receipt of price. 


q? :E3I x> EDITION. 

THE BEST POULTRY BOOK EVER PUBLISHED 


POULTRY CULTURE 

How to Raise, Mate, Manage and Judge Thorough-bred Fowls. 

By I. K. 2FELCH. 

Third Edition, with supplemental chapter on the preparation of 
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It seems to be prepared with a view to thorough practical use and to be 
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the great scope of matter aealt with by the author. The work will help 
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PFLIOE1 £1.30. 

mt mtmio on R iewpT or hmc. laird &. LEE, Publishers, 

UOhWf UpS BUH DINq, CHICAGO, ILL* 



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